GIFT  OF 
Class    of   1907 


,, 


"May  I  come  aboard  your  vessel?" 


EL  DIABLO 


ft 

BRAYTON  NORTON 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
DAN  SAYRE   GROESBECK 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright  IQ2I 
SUNSET  MAGAZINE,  INC. 

Copyright  1921 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


'V 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


PRESS  or 

BRAUNWORTH   &   CO* 

BOOK    MANUFACTUBIR8 

BROOKLYN,   N.  V. 


To 

MY  WIFE 
"STERLING" 


£04601 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    FORBIDDEN   WATERS I 

II    JETSAM   OF  THE   SEA 10 

III  TANGLED    THREADS 18 

IV  THE  WORK  OF  THEIR  FATHERS 30 

V    THE  WAY  OF  THE  GULL 48 

VI    THE  LAW  OF  THE  FISHERMEN 63 

VII    YOU'LL  HAVE  TO  SHOW  ME 72 

VIII    A  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE 77 

IX    DIABLO  LUCK 83 

X     SALVAGE 93 

XI    REFUSING   TO    BE    BLUFFED 105 

XII    A  WARNING 118 

XIII  THE    STRIKE 133 

XIV  THE  MOTHER  OF  INVENTION 145 

XV    BUSINESS  AND  PLEASURE 160 

XVI    THE  BAITED  PAWN 169 

XVII    THE  FANGS  OF  MASCOLA 180 

XVIII    THE  COST  OF  DEFEAT 186 

XIX    ROCK  FOLLOWS  UP 196 

XX    PLANS  FOR  A  SHOW-DOWN 211 

XXI    THE  GRAY  GHOST 222 

XXII     STRICTLY  ON  THE  DEFENSIVE 237 

XXIII  BATTLE  OF  NORTHWEST  HARBOR 245 

XXIV  A  FIGHTING  CHANCE 253 

XXV    THE  BANKER  AT  THE  HELM 264 

XXVI    THE   VALUE   OF   PUBLICITY 280 

XXVII    To  SOLVE  THE  MYSTERY 291 

XXVIII    THE  ISLAND'S   PRISONER 304 

XXIX    UNDER    ORDERS 315 

XXX    THE  FIGHT  IN  THE  CAVE 325 

XXXI    BENEATH    THE    WATERS 34<> 

XXXII    FOR  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  KNOW 352 


EL  DIABLO 

CHAPTER  I 

FORBIDDEN    WATERS 

DICHARD  GREGORY  stirred  restlessly  in  his 
*;:\  sleep  vaguely  aware  of  an  unfamiliar  sound,  a 
faint  tapping,  insistent,  disturbing.  He  wakened 
sharply  and  sat  bolt  upright,  conscious  of  the  fact 
that  he  was  fully  dressed.  Then  he  remembered. 

"All  right,  Bill,"  he  called  softly.    "Coming." 

It  took  but  a  minute  to  shove  his  automatic  into 
his  pocket  and  secure  his  rifle  from  the  comer.  Grop 
ing  his  way  to  the  door  he  stood  shivering  on  the 
threshold,  staring  into  the  thick  gray  fog  which  en 
veloped  him. 

A  hand  touched  his  shoulder.  Strong  fingers 
tightened  on  his  arm. 

"This  way,"  a  low  voice  directed.  "Careful,  don't 
scuff." 

Gregory  started  to  speak  but  a  warning  pressure 
of  the  big  fingers  restrained  him.  His  companion  led 
the  way.  He  followed  in  silence.  Through  the  wind- 

i 


DIABLO 


ing  streets  of  the  little  fishing  village  they  went,  the 
familiar  landmarks  about  them  looming  grotesque 
and  mystical  in  the  low-hanging  fog.  At  length  the 
acrid  air  of  the  sea  assailed  their  nostrils  and  the  si 
lence  of  the  night  was  broken  by  the  noisy  splashing 
of  a  marsh-loon. 

Bill  Lang  stopped  suddenly.  Faintly  through  the 
gray  void  came  the  muffled  gulping  of  an  under-water 
exhaust.  Huddled  together  they  stood  listening.  To 
Richard  Gregory  the  sound  indicated  only  the  slow 
approach  of  a  motor-boat.  To  the  trained  ear  of  the 
fisherman  it  meant  that  Mexican  Joe  was  on  time  with 
the  Sea  Gull. 

Lang  led  on  down  the  loosely  boarded  wharf  piled 
high  with  ill-smelling  fish-boxes  and  paused  at  the 
head  of  a  narrow  gangway,  looking  back,  listening. 
Close  by  the  dock  Gregory  discerned  the  outline  of  a 
fishing-boat,  magnified  by  the  fog  into  whimsical  pro 
portions.  Descending  cautiously,  he  followed  Lang 
aboard  and  groped  his  way  into  the  protecting  shelter 
of  the  engine-house.  The  cold  mist  clung  to  his  flesh 
and  he  drew  his  coat  closer  about  him.  The  soft 
breathing  of  the  heavy-duty  motor  became  more  pro 
nounced,  more  labored.  The  clutch  was  in.  They 
were  backing  out  into  the  stream.  He  glanced  above 
him  at  the  stay  where  the  starboard  side-lamp  hung. 
But  the  grayness  was  unbroken  by  a  single  ray  of 
green. 

Lang  was  running  dark. 

It  was  taking  a  long  chance  on  such  a  night  as 


FORBIDDEN  WATERS  3 

this,  Gregory  reflected.  But  then  the  whole  business 
was  a  long  chance.  And  Lang  knew  his  business. 

Imbued  with  a  fisherman's  sixth  sense  of  feeling 
his  way  along  familiar  channels  rendered  unfamiliar 
by  fog,  Bill  Lang  piloted  his  craft  skilfully  down  the 
silent  bay  in  the  direction  of  the  open  sea. 

Crouching  in  the  bow,  Mexican  Joe  sought  with 
cat-like  eyes  to  pierce  the  gray  veil  of  blinding  fog. 
Narrowly  averting  collision  with  unlighted  harbor- 
boats,  bumping  at  times  over  sandy  shoals,  plowing 
through  grass-grown  mud-flats  and  skirting  danger 
ous  reefs  with  only  the  smallest  margin  of  safety,  they 
came  at  last  to  the  jettied  outlet  of  Crescent  Bay. 

The  roar  of  the  breakers  sounded  ominously  close 
through  the  gray  canopy  of  fog.  The  little  craft 
rocked  briskly  in  the  trough  of  the  swell  as  Lang 
threw  the  wheel  over  and  headed  out  to  sea.  Flashing 
a  small  light  over  the  compass,  which  served  as  an  im 
provised  binnacle,  he  peered  intently  at  the  instrument. 
Then  he  spoke  softly  to  the  man  forward. 

'Take  the  wheel,  Joe." 

When  the  Mexican  had  relieved  him  Lang  bent 
low  over  the  compass  and  examined  his  watch.  Then 
he  joined  Gregory. 

"Twelve  o'clock/'  he  announced.  "We've  got  to 
make  Diablo  before  daybreak.  Sixty-five  miles  in 
less  than  four  hours.  That  means  hurry  in  weather 
like  this." 

He  turned  to  the  man  at  the  wheel. 

"Crowd    her,    Joe,"    he    called.      "We're    taking 


4  EL  DIABLO 

chances  to-night.  If  we  hit  anybody  we  might  as  well 
hit  hard." 

"Do  you  think  we  got  out  without  being  seen?" 

Lang  shook  his  head  sagely  in  the  darkness. 

"Not  much  of  a  chance,"  he  answered  after  a  mo 
ment.  "Couldn't  have  had  a  better  night,  though. 
But  it's  mighty  hard  to  slip  anything  over  on  the  dago. 
If  the  fog  would  lift  up  it  would  be  even  shootin'  you'd 
see  one  of  Mascola's  outfit  trailin'  us  astern.  We've 
got  him  nervous,  I  tell  you." 

"It's  high  time  they  were  getting  nervous,"  Greg 
ory  rejoined.  "When  they  try  to  browbeat  American 
fishermen  off  the  high  seas  and  coastal  waters  it's 
time  somebody  was  getting  nervous." 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment  and  Lang  as  usual 
only  grunted  his  assent.  Then  Gregory  went  on : 

"But  there's  something  else  that's  making  them 
nervous,  Lang.  Something  they  are  doing  around 
that  devil-island.  What  kinds  of  laws  they're  break 
ing  out  there  nobody  knows.  They  may  be  doing 
anything  from  shooting  fish  to  catching  chicken- 
halibut  or  baby  barracuda.  We  don't  know  what. 
But  we  do  know  they're  mighty  touchy  on  who  cruises 
round  El  Diablo.  When  our  boats  get  around  that  in 
fernal  island  something  always  happens.  You  know 
that." 

Lang's  grunt  was  emphatic  and  Gregory  con 
cluded  : 

"That's  why  it's  up  to  us  to  find  out  what  it  is. 
It's  hard  enough  to  get  the  fish  as  it  is  without  Mascola 


FORBIDDEN  WATERS  5 

staking1  out  the  water  like  he  owned  it  and  telling  us 
to  keep  out." 

For  some  time  the  two  men  leaned  together  against 
the  engine-house,  each  keeping  his  own  counsel,  each 
busied  with  his  own  thoughts.  Then  Gregory  spoke : 

"If  anything  happens  to  me  to-night,  Lang, 
keep  all  this  business  to  yourself  until  my  son  comes 
home.  Tell  him.  No  one  else.  We  want  to  get  to 
the  bottom  of  this  thing  ourselves  without  any  one 
else  butting  in  to  bungle  the  job.  Do  you  under 
stand?" 

When  Lang  had  gone  to  relieve  the  Mexican  at 
the  wheel  Richard  Gregory's  thoughts  turned  to  his 
son  overseas.  Should  he  have  waited  until  his  return? 
He  wondered.  It  was  a  young  man's  work,  such  a  job 
as  this, — and  yet, — no,  it  was  better  to  get  to  the  bot 
tom  of  the  thing  to-night.  His  head  sank  lower  on 
his  breast.  Perhaps  he  could  snatch  a  few  winks  of 
sleep.  He  might  need  it. 

The  muffled  rattle  of  the  anchor-chain  caused  him 
to  waken  sharply,  stiff  with  cold.  The  motor  was 
silent.  The  launch  rocked  lazily.  Through  a  rift  in 
the  fog  he  saw  a  rocky  beach  only  a  stone's  throw 
away.  They  wrere  anchored  close  by  the  shore. 

"Hell-Hole,"  announced  Lang  in  a  whisper. 

Gregory  picked  up  his  rifle. 

For  a  moment  the  big-  fisherman  by  his  side  hesi 
tated.  Then  he  said:  "Why  not  stay  on  the  Gull, 
Mr.  Gregory?  Let  Joe  go  ashore  with  me." 

"No." 


6  EL  DIABLO 

The  answer  was  decisive.  There  were  no  expla 
nations.  Lang  knew  it  was  final.  Assisted  by  the 
Mexican,  he  swung  the  dory  free  and  lowered  it 
quietly  into  the  water.  Helping  Gregory  into  the 
small  boat  he  turned  to  the  Mexican  and  spoke  rapidly 
in  Spanish.  Gregory  could  catch  only  the  substance 
of  a  few  sentences.  Lang  was  telling  Joe  to  stand  by 
for  a  quick  get-away.  To  watch  the  beach  and  start 
the  anchor  when  he  saw  them  coming.  And  above  all 
he  was  to  keep  quiet. 

The  bow  of  the  dory  grated  on  the  beach.  The 
two  men  stepped  out  and  without  a  backward  glance 
slowly  disappeared  into  the  fog. 

Huddled  in  the  bow,  Mexican  Joe  \vaited  by  the 
anchor-chain,  his  eyes  searching  the  little  cove.  For  a 
long  time  he  sat  thus,  not  even  daring  to  light  a  cig 
arette.  Once  his  straining  ears  caught  the  muffled 
exhaust  of  a  motor-launch.  It  came  very  close  but  the 
fog  guarded  him  well  and  he  heard  it  pass  on.  What 
the  two  men  were  doing  upon  the  i'sland  concerned 
Mexican  Joe  not  at  all.  The  devil-isle  was  filled  with 
secrets.  Why  should  he  try  to  fathom  them?  He 
was  paid  to  obey  and  Seiior  Lang  had  twice  saved  his 
life. 

A  sound  from  the  shore  caused  Joe  to  struggle  to 
his  feet  and  begin  hauling  on  the  chain.  Then  he 
looked  again,  stopped  and  straightened  up. 

There  were  three  men  coming  along  the  beach, 
four, — five. 

Joe   dropped  behind  the  rail  and   watched  them 


FORBIDDEN  WATERS  7 

climb  over  the  rocks  and  halt  by  the  empty  dory. 
Then  he  heard  the  sound  of  low  voices  in  a  foreign 
tongue,  and  shivered.  The  voices  of  the  men  on  the 
beach  grew  fainter.  They  were  minutely  examining 
the  dory.  One  lifted  his  arm  and  pointed  seaward  in 
the  direction  of  the  Sea  Gull. 

The  Mexican  crept  to  his  sawed-off  shotgun 
loaded  with  buck-shot.  Securing  the  weapon  he  made 
his  way  again  to  the  bow  and  waited.  The  rock- 
bound  cove  was  silent.  The  dory  was  still  on  the 
beach.  But  the  men  were  gone. 

At  length  came  the  rattle  of  loose  stones  mingled 
with  the  sound  of  low-pitched  voices.  Gracious  a 
Dois.  It  was  Senor  Lang  and  Senor  Gregory.  Joe's 
hand  leaped  to  the  anchor-chain.  There  would  be 
need  to  hurry.  He  tugged  hard  at  the  heavy  cable, 
then  he  stopped,  straightened  and  screamed  a  warning. 

Gregory  and  Lang  whirled  about  only  a  few  feet 
from  the  dory.  From  the  shadowed  crevices  in  the 
rocks,  men  leaped  forward  and  hurled  themselves  to 
the  beach.  About  the  skiff  bright  jets  of  flame  cut  the 
fog.  Came  the  sharp  report  of  an  automatic,  twice, — 
three  times. 

Mexican  Joe  watched  the  unequal  struggle,  hud 
dled  against  the  rail.  His  eyes  brightened  with  fear. 
Twice  he  raised  his  gun,  but  his  hand  shook.  At  the 
distance  the  shot  would  scatter.  There  would  be  no 
use.  He  saw  the  two  men  fight  their  way  to  the  dory. 
Saw  Lang  reach  it,  shove  it  into  the  water.  The 
Senor  was  safe.  Gracious  a  Dios.  But  no,  he  was  go- 


8  EL  DIABLO 

ing  back  for  Senor  Gregory.  Sangre  de  Christo,  they 
would  all  be  killed. 

The  fog  thickened.  The  struggling  forms  merged, 
grotesquely  intermingled  and  became  indistinct. 
From  behind  the  gray  curtain  came  the  sound  of  heavy 
blows,  muttered  imprecations,  groans. 

Joe  waited  for  the  veil  to  lift,  staring  with  strain 
ing  eyes,  cursing  softly.  Los  Senores  were  being 
murdered  before  his  eyes  and  he  could  do  nothing. 
Through  a  rift  in  the  fog  he  saw  Gregory  with  his 
back  to  the  cliff  fighting  back  the  savage  horde  which 
were  pressing  hard  upon  him.  He  was  using  his  rifle 
as  a  club.  The  men  were  falling  away  from  him. 
Lang  had  cleared  the  way  to  the  skiff;  was  almost  at 
his  companion's  side. 

From  the  overhanging  ledge  above,  two  dark  fig 
ures  leaped  suddenly  upon  the  man  beneath,  wrench 
ing  his  gun  from  his  hand,  crushing  him  to  the  sand. 
Lang  fell  upon  the  group  of  struggling  figures,  fight 
ing  like  a  madman.  Then  he  staggered,  dropped  to 
his  knees  and  went  down  before  the  onslaught. 

Again  the  gray  pall  drifted  down  from  the  tall 
crags  above  and  blotted  out  the  scene. 

Joe  staggered  to  his  feet,  grasping  the  wire-stays 
for  support.  Then  he  stiffened  and  stood  listening. 
The  muffled  purr  of  a  high-powered  motor  disturbed 
the  silence.  From  out  the  gloom  to  starboard  he  saw 
the  bow  of  a  big  motor-boat  cut  the  fog.  The  Mex 
ican  shrieked  a  warning  and  tightened  his  clutch  on 
the  stays. 


FORBIDDEN  WATERS  9 

The  strange  craft  veered,  the  sharp  bow  swung 
over.  With  wide-open  engines,  she  struck  the  Sea 
Gull  amidships,  full  on  the  beam.  Hurled  to  the  deck 
by  the  impact  the  Mexican  heard  the  snapping  and 
grinding  of  timbers.  He  was  conscious  of  falling 
and  the  cool  rush  of  waters  about  his  head.  Then  he 
remembered  no  more. 

Wrapped  in  a  clinging  mantle  of  filmy  fog,  rock- 
bound,  grim  and  mysterious,  the  Island  of  El  Diablo 
frowned  at  the  sea  from  behind  the  veil  of  silence. 
Brave  men  had  sought  to  fathom  her  secret  but  she 
had  guarded  it  well. 


CHAPTER  II 

JETSAM   OF  THE  SEA 

JOHN  BLAIR  was  worried.  Every  line  of  his  face, 
every  movement  of  his  nervous  body  showed  it. 
He  turned  quickly  to  the  bare-footed  fisherman  who 
blocked  the  doorway. 

"You  combed  the  beach,  you  say?    How  far?" 

"San  Lucas  to  Port  Angeles." 

"No  signs  of  wreckage;  nothing?" 

The  fisherman  shook  his  head. 

Blair  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  he  asked: 
"How  far  out  to  sea  did  you  go?" 

"About  three  miles.  'Dog-face'  Jones's  workin' 
out  San  Anselmo  way.  Big  Jack  left  last  night  for 
Diablo." 

Blair  started.  "Diablo,"  he  repeated.  "They 
surely  wouldn't  have  gone  out  there." 

Before  the  fisherman  could  reply  there  came  an 
interruption.  The  door  opened  quickly  and  a  young 
man  strode  into  the  room. 

"Mr.  Gregory?    Is  he  in?" 

Blair  looked  up  quickly  at  the  sound  of  the  voice 
and  ran  his  eyes  over  the  clean-cut  figure  in  the  serge 
uniform.  The  impression,  hastily  formed,  of  having 

10 


JETSAM  OF  THE  SEA  n 

met  the  man  before,  was  strengthened  by  the  roving 
black  eyes  which  were  expectantly  traveling  about  the 
room. 

"This  is  the  Legonia  Fish  Cannery,  isn't  it?" 

Blair  nodded.  "Yes,"  he  said.  "But  Mr.  Gregory 
is  not  here  at  present." 

"When  will  he  be  in?" 

The  words  came  eagerly  with  the  brusk  assurance 
of  an  immediate  answer.  The  crisp  insistence  had  a 
decidedly  familiar  sound.  Blair  regarded  the  clean-cut 
face  of  the  young  officer  intently  as  he  answered : 

"I  don't  know.  Will  you  call  again  or  leave  your 
name?" 

"I  am  Mr.  Gregory's  son." 

Blair  came  to  meet  him  with  outstretched  hands. 

"I  might  have  known  it,"  he  said.  "I  am  Mr. 
Blair,  your  father's  manager.  I'm  glad  to  meet  you. 
Your  father  did  not  expect  you  so  soon,  did  he?" 

The  young  man  shook  his  head  and  smiled. 

"No,"  he  answered.  "Dad  thinks  I'm  still  on  the 
other  side.  I  wanted  to  surprise  him.  I  wrote  a  letter 
saying  I  would  be  home  as  soon  as  possible.  I  mailed 
the  letter  on  the  ship  which  brought  me  over."  A 
boyish  look  crept  into  his  eyes.  "Don't  let  on  when 
dad  comes  back  that  you've  seen  me,  will  you,  Mr, 
Blair?  I  have  to  go  back  to  camp  to-night  and  arrange 
about  my  discharge.  It  may  be  a  week  before  I  can 
be  back." 

The  black  eyes  grew  suddenly  wistful. 


12  EL  DIABLO 

"Say,  Mr.  Blair,  don't  you  think  there's  a  chance 
of  my  seeing  dad  before  I  leave?  I  have  until  five 
o'clock  to  get  my  train." 

Blair  was  unable  to  meet  the  steady  gaze  of  his  em 
ployer's  son.  Should  he  tell  the  boy  of  his  father's 
strange  absence  ?  Voice  his  own  fears  and  suspicions 
for  the  safety  of  Gregory,  Sr.  ?  By  the  time  the  young 
man  returned  the  mystery  might  be  solved.  At  least 
they  would  know  something. 

"What  is  wrong,  Mr.  Blair?" 

The  question  was  volleyed  with  quiet  insistence. 
It  demanded  an  answer.  The  boy  would  not  be  put 
off.  He  was  his  father's  son.  Blair  sought  to  put  the 
matter  in  as  favorable  a  light  as  possible  under  the  cir 
cumstances.  In  a  few  words  he  told  of  the  disappear 
ance  of  Richard  Gregory. 

Kenneth  Gregory  listened  quietly,  at  times  inter 
rupting  with  rapid-fire  questions. 

"When  was  he  last  seen?" 

"Three  days  ago." 

"You  knew  nothing  of  his  plans  ?" 

"Nothing  definite,"  Blair  evaded.  "He  might 
have  gone  out  with  the  fishermen  scouting  for  alba- 
core.  One  of  Lang's  boats  turned  up  missing  the  next 
morning.  Lang  himself  is  missing,  too." 

"Who  is  Lang?" 

"Your  father's  fishing  captain.  He  recently 
bought  him  a  number  of  new  boats.  They  might  have 
gone  to  try  one  of  them  out." 

"Nothing  has  been  heard  of  them  since?" 


JETSAM  OF  THE  SEA  13 

"Not  yet.  You  see  it  has  been  very  foggy  lately 
all  along  the  coast.  That  has  handicapped  our  search." 

"Where  can  I  get  a  boat  ?" 

Blair  shook  his  head.  Then  he  came  closer  and 
put  his  hand  on  Kenneth  Gregory's  arm. 

"All  of  the  Lang  boats  are  out  now,  Captain, 
Everything  is  being  done,  I  can  assure  you.  It  would 
be  no  use." 

"Are  there  no  other  boats  here  than  Lang's  ?" 

"Only  the  alien  fleet." 

The  man  in  uniform  whirled  about  decisively. 

"Then  I'll  get  one  of  them.  Will  you  show  me 
where  they  are?" 

"It  would  be  no  use.  They  wouldn't  go.  You 
see—" 

"Let's  try." 

With  some  reluctance  Blair  consented. 

"We  haven't  been  getting  along  any  too  well  with 
Mascola's  outfit  lately,"  he  explained  as  they  walked 
along.  "I'll  stop  at  Lang's  wharf  first.  Maybe  some 
of  the  boats  are  back." 

Turning  on  to  a  small  wharf  they  walked  in  silence 
over  the  loose  boards  down  the  lane  of  ill-smelling 
fish-boxes.  At  the  end  of  the  dock  a  narrow  gangway 
led  downward  to  a  small  float  which  rocked  lazily 
in  the  capping  swells  thrown  up  by  a  passing  fishing- 
'boat.  Close  by,  another  wharf  jutted  out  into  the  bay. 
LTpon  it  were  a  number  of  swarthy  fishermen,  piling 
nets.  Blair  stopped  abruptly  at  the  head  of  the  gang- 


14  EL  DIABLO 

way,  his  eyes  searching  the  water.  The  fishing-boat 
was  swinging  up  into  the  tide  and  edging  closer. 

"Is  that  one  of  the  Lang  boats?"  he  heard  Gregory 
ask. 

A  paroxysm  of  coughing  prevented  Blair's  imme 
diate  reply.  The  young  officer  looked  eagerly  at  the 
approaching  craft,  upon  the  bow  of  which  a  dark- 
skinned  man  leaned  carelessly  against  the  wire-stays. 
He  noticed  that  the  man  was  tall  and  straight.  Upon 
his  head  a  gaudy  red  cap  rested  with  a  rakish  air.  His 
eyes  were  upon  the  Lang  dock  as  he  stood  with  folded 
arms  and  waited  for  the  boat  to  nose  up  to  the  near-by 
wharf. 

Gregory  admitted  to  himself  that  there  was  some 
thing  masterful  about  the  red-capped  stranger,  at  the 
same  time,  repellent.  The  crowd  of  aliens  moreover, 
he  noticed,  fell  away  respectfully.  The  newcomer  was 
evidently  a  personage  in  the  community. 

Gregory,  watching  him  as  he  stepped  from  the 
launch,  instinctively  disliked  him. 

"That's  Mascola." 

Blair  bit  the  words  savagely. 

Gregory  surveyed  the  newcomer  with  interest. 

"He  has  a  boat,"  he  said.  "Let's  go  over  and  get 
it." 

Blair  put  out  a  restraining  hand. 

"There   would   be   no   use,"   he   said.      "Mascola 
wouldn't  let  us  have  that  boat  to  save  our  lives." 
Gregory  was  already  on  his  way  to  the  Italian 


JETSAM  OF  THE  SEA  15 

dock.  Blair  started  to  overtake  him.  Then  he  glanced 
down  the  bay  and  his  face  brightened. 

"Wait,"  he  called.  "Here  comes  one  of  Lang's 
boats  now.  Perhaps  they  will  know  something." 

With  the  approach  of  the  second  fishing-boat  came 
a  crowd  of  curious  fishing  folk  of  all  nationalities. 
Men,  women  and  children  clustered  about  the  dock, 
imbued  with  a  lust  for  excitement  and  a  morbid  desire 
to  learn  the  worst  from  the  latest  mystery  of  the  sea. 
All  eyes  were  held  by  the  fishing-boat  as  it  swung 
about  and  drew  near  the  float. 

Blair  shoved  his  way  through  the  crowd  and  led 
Gregory  down  the  gangway.  Upon  the  covered  hatch 
of  the  launch  Blair's  eye  caught  sight  of  two  rolls  of 
canvas,  fashioned  bundle-like.  Nets  most  likely.  He 
looked  eagerly  at  the  fishermen  aboard  the  incoming 
craft.  Their  faces  caused  him  to  look  again  at  the 
canvas  bundles.  Then  he  turned  quickly  to  the  man 
by  his  side. 

"Why  not  wait  on  the  wharf  until  they  come  up?" 
he  asked  m  a  low  voice  in  which  he  strove  to  conceal 
his  agitation. 

Kenneth  Gregory  shook  his  head.  He  too  had 
noticed  the  bundles  on  the  hatch. 

In  silence  the  launch  tied  up  to  the  fleet.  In  silence 
two  barefooted  fishermen  lifted  one  of  the  bundles 
and  carrying  it  carefully  between  them,  stepped  out 
upon  the  gently  rocking  float.  The  salt-stiffened  can 
vas  unrolled  as  the  men  laid  their  burden  down,  expos 
ing  the  body  of  a  huge  fisherman.  His  face  was 


16  EL  DIABLO 

battered  and  bruised  and  Gregory  noticed  that  his  hair 
was  red. 

Blair's  hand  on  Gregory's  arm  tightened. 

"Good  God!"  he  exclaimed.     "It's  Lang." 

Kenneth  Gregory  looked  down  into  the  face  of  the 
big  fisherman.  Then  he  remembered  the  other  bun 
dle.  Blair  sought  to  deter  him.  But  he  was  too  late 
to  check  the  onward  rush  of  the  young  man  across  the 
float.  Already  he  was  boarding  the  boat.  Blair 
watched  him  raise  the  flap  of  canvas.  Saw  his  eyes 
searching  the  folds  beneath.  At  length  came  voices. 
A  man  was  speaking. 

"Found  them  off  Diablo.  Went  on  the  rocks  at 
Hell-Hole  in  the  fog.  Boat  was  smashed.  Bu'sted 
clean  in  two." 

Gregory  scarcely  heard  them  as  he  knelt  on  the 
hatch  looking  down  into  the  face  of  the  one  he  had 
traveled  seven  thousand  miles  to  see. 

Blair  led  him  away.  As  the  little  procession  moved 
silently  down  the  dock  the  crowd  parted  respectfully. 
Eyes  that  were  hard,  softened.  Fishermen  took  off 
their  hats,  holding  them  awkwardly  in  their  red  hands. 
Fisherwomen  looked  down  at  the  rough  boards  and 
crossed  themselves  devoutly. 

The  cortege  passed  on.  Turning  from  the  dock 
they  threaded  their  way  down  the  narrow  street  lead 
ing  to  the  town.  As  they  neared  the  alien  docks,  the 
dusky  fishermen  uncovered  and  drew  together,  awed 
by  the  presence  of  the  great  shadow. 

Gregory's  arm  brushed  against  a  man  leaning  care- 


JETSAM  OF  THE  SEA  17 

lessly  against  the  wharf-rail.  Raising  his  eyes  from 
the  ground,  he  beheld  the  one  man  of  all  the  villagers 
who  had  remained  unmoved,  unsoftened  by  the  spec 
tacle.  With  his  red  cap  shoved  back  upon  his  shining- 
black  hair  the  insolent  stranger  stood  looking  on  with 
folded  arms.  Gregory  noticed  that  Mascola  had  not 
even  taken  the  trouble  to  remove  the  cigarette  which 
hung  damply  from  his  lips. 

For  an  instant  the  two  men  looked  deep  into  each 
other's  eyes.    Then  the  procession  passed  on. 


CHAPTER  III 

TANGLED    THREADS 

'""THE  death  of  his  father  hurled  Kenneth  Gregory 
into  a  new  world — a  world  of  unfamiliar  faces, 
of  strange  standards  of  value,  of  vastly  different  prob 
lems — the  world  of  business. 

Kenneth  Gregory  had  taken  this  world  as  he 
found  it.  There  had  been  no  time  to  moralize  upon 
the  situation  into  which  the  spinning  of  the  wheel  had 
plunged  him.  There  was  work  to  do. 

Securing  his  discharge  from  the  army  he  had 
turned  to  the  task  of  settling  up  his  father's  estate. 
The  fact  that  he  was  the  sole  heir  and  legal  executor 
simplified  matters.  But  there  were  complications. 
These  he  had  unraveled  with  the  aid  of  Farnsworth, 
the  attorney  for  the  estate.  Then  he  had  come  to 
Legonia  and  found  plenty  to  do. 

Blair,  the  former  manager  of  the  Legonia  Fish 
Cannery,  had  suffered  an  attack  of  pneumonia  and 
was  ill  at  a  neighboring  sanitarium.  From  him  he- 
could  therefore  learn  nothing.  The  books  of  the  com 
pany  told  him  but  little  more.  Now  he  was  going  over 
the  private  papers  in  his  father's  office. 

"Are  you  the  boss?" 

18 


TANGLED  THREADS  19 

Kenneth  Gregory  turned  from  his  perusal  of  a  file 
of  letters  and  faced  a  young  man  standing  in  the  door 
way.  Gregory  nodded. 

"I'm  the  owner,"  he  replied  pleasantly,  noting  the 
well-worn,  much-patched  service  uniform  of  the 
stranger.  "And  for  the  time  being,  boss.  My  mana 
ger  is  sick.  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you?" 

"Yes.     You  can  give  me  a  job." 

Gregory  smiled  at  the  frankness  of  the  answer. 

"I  might  at  that,"  he  said.  "Can  you  speak  Rus 
sian  or  Italian?" 

The  ex-soldier  shook  his  head  as  Gregory  went  on : 

"What  I  need  more  than  anything  else  just  now 
is  an  interpreter.  I  have  a  Jot  of  foreigners  working 
outside  cleaning  up.  I've  been  having  to  make  signs 
to  them  all  morning." 

The  soldier's  brow  wrinkled. 

"That's  what  they  told  me  of  this  place  in  Center- 
ville,"  he  said.  "They  said  I  was  only  wasting  shoe- 
leather  to  come  down  here.  That  it  was  no  place  for 
an  American." 

"Maybe  they're  right,"  Gregory  cut  in.  Then  he 
added :  "However,  we  may  be  able  to  change  things. 
What  can  you  do?" 

The  youth's  face  assumed  a  more  cheerful  expres 
sion.  "I'm  a  mechanic  by  trade,"  he  answered.  "I'll 
do  anything  right  now." 

"Know  anything  about  marine  motors  ?" 

"Two  or  four  cycle?" 


20  EL  DIABLO 

Gregory  pondered.  'Twas  best  to  be  on  the  safe 
side.  "Both,"  he  answered. 

The  soldier  shook  his  head.  "You'll  have  to  count 
me  out  on  the  two  cycles,"  he  said.  "Those  little  pea 
nut-roasters  and  coffee-grinders  are  new  to  me. 
Never  had  any  experience  with  anything  much  but 
Unions  and  Standards.  That's  what  most  of  the 
fishermen  have  in  their  boats." 

Gregory's  face  cleared. 

"I  may  be  able  to  take  you  on.  I  have  a  lot  of 
motors  which  will  need  looking  after  before  long.  In 
the  meantime  if  you  want  to  go  to  work  cleaning  up 
the  house,  you  can  start  any  time  you're  ready.  What 
do  you  say?" 

"I'll  say  you've  hired  a  man.    My  name's  Barnes." 

Gregory  extended  his  hand.  "And  mine  is  Greg 
ory.  When  do  you  want  to  go  to  work?" 

"Right  away." 

Together  the  two  men  went  out  into  the  fish- 
laden  atmosphere  of  the  cannery.  Walking  down  the 
aisles,  flanked  on  both  sides  by  huge  vats  and  silent 
conveyers,  they  came  upon  a  number  of  dark-skinned 
laborers  whiling  away  the  time  with  a  scant  pretense 
of  work.  Stung  into  a  semblance  of  action  by  the  sud 
den  appearance  of  the  boss,  the  men  abruptly  post 
poned  their  conversation  and  tardily  plied  their  scrub 
bing  brooms,  meanwhile  eying  the  newcomer  with 
frank  disapproval. 

Leaving  Barnes  with  the  injunction  to  keep  an  eye 
on  the  men  and,  if  possible,  induce  them  to  speed  up, 


TANGLED  THREADS  21 

Gregory  returned  to  his  work.  Passing  through  the 
outer  office  where  he  had  met  Mr.  Blair  upon  the  day 
of  his  arrival  from  overseas,  he  entered  the  little  room 
which  Richard  Gregory  had  used  for  a  private  office. 
Opening  a  small  safe  which  stood  in  a  corner,  he  re 
sumed  his  examination  of  his  father's  papers. 

In  a  vague  sort  of  way  he  regarded  his  legacy  of 
the  Legonia  Fish  Cannery  as  a  trust.  In  the  atmos 
phere  of  this  room  this  feeling  was  always  enhanced, 
the  trust  more  sacred.  Here  Richard  Gregory  had 
worked,  planned,  worried.  Every  detail  of  the  room 
spoke  eloquently  from  father  to  son.  Here  was  begun 
an  unfinished  work.  Richard  Gregory  had  believed 
in  it;  had  given  his  life  to  it. 

Farnsworth  had  said  that  the  business  had  never 
paid.  That  his  client  had  purchased  it  directly  against 
his  advice  and  had  continued  to  throw  good  money 
after  bad  ever  since.  The  lawyer  advised  selling  at 
the  first  good  opportunity. 

Kenneth  Gregory  absolutely  refused  to  believe  that 
his  father  had  failed.  The  business  had  not  prospered. 
That  was  true.  But  doubtless  there  were  good  and 
sufficient  reasons.  He  continued  his  examination  of 
the  contents  of  the  safe,  methodically  going  through 
the  various  compartments  and  making  notes  concerning 
the  papers  found  therein.  At  length  he  came  to  a 
memorandum  which  held  his  attention.  It  was  the 
agreement  his  father  had  made  with  Lang  to  purchase 
ten  fully-equipped  fishing-boats  for  the  fisherman. 

Gregory  studied  the  penciled  notes.     His  father 


22  EL  DIABLO 

had  reposed  untold  confidence  in  Lang's  integrity. 
So  much  was  shown  by  the  loose  phraseology  of  the 
document  and  the  extreme  latitude  given  the  fisher 
man  in  compliance  with  its  terms.  That  this  confi 
dence  had  evidently  not  been  misplaced,  was  evidenced 
by  the  promptness  with  which  Lang  met  the  payments 
as  they  fell  due. 

Farnsworth,  Gregory  remembered,  had  regarded 
the  chattel  mortgage  on  Lang's  boats  and  equipment 
as  a  most  doubtful  asset.  If  Lang  had  left  a  son  the 
old  lawyer  had  maintained,  who  would  be  competent 
to  go  on  with  his  father's  work,  the  situation  would 
have  appeared  in  a  more  favorable  light. 

But  Lang  had  left  no  son.  Only  a  daughter.  And, 
to  quote  the  reputable  Farnsworth,  what  chance  would 
any  man  stand  of  getting  anything  out  of  a  woman 
on  a  loosely  drawn  contract  like  that?  Figure  it 
profit  and  loss,  my  boy,  he  had  concluded  bruskly. 

Like  Farnsworth,  Gregory  too  wished  that  Lang 
had  left  a  son.  It  would  be  easier  dealing  with  a  man, 
competent  or  incompetent,  than  a  woman.  Well,  he 
would  say  nothing  to  the  girl  for  the  time  being  at 
least.  She  had  had  enough  to  bear  in  the  loss  of  her 
father.  That  much  he  could  swear  to.  When  she  had 
defaulted  the  next  payment  he  would  make  her  a 
proposition  to  buy  her  boats.  Fishing  was  no  business 
for  a  girl  anyway. 

He  glanced  at  the  schedule  of  dates  arranged  by 
Lang  and  his  father  for  making  the  payments  and 
turned  to  the  calendar.  One  of  them  was  already  past 


TANGLED  THREADS  23 

due.  Five  hundred  dollars  should  have  been  paid  the 
week  before. 

So  intent  was  Gregory  upon  his  study  of  the 
contract  that  he  failed  to  hear  the  opening  of  the 
outer  office  door.  His  first  intimation  of  the  pres 
ence  of  a  visitor  came  with  a  sharp  knock  upon  his 
half-open  door. 

"Come  in,"  he  called. 

A  wind-bronzed  fisherman  stood  upon  the  thres 
hold,  dangling  a  red  cap  in  his  hand.  He  bowed 
gracefully  and  smiled. 

"You  are  Mr.  Gregory?" 

Gregory  nodded,  trying  to  remember  where  he  had 
seen  the  man  before.  Suddenly  he  remembered.  It 
was  on  the  day  his  father's  body  had  been  brought  in. 
Near  the  alien  wharf  a  man  had  jostled  against  him. 
A  man  with  a  bright  red  cap,  smoking  a  cigarette. 

"I  am  Mascola." 

The  visitor  spoke  the  words  slowly  as  if  anxious 
that  none  of  the  importance  of  the  introduction  might 
be  lost  or  passed  over  lightly. 

Gregory  looked  Mascola  over  carefully.  The  man's 
carelessness  and  seeming  irreverence  on  that  never-to- 
be-forgotten  day  might  not  have  been  intentional.  He 
must  not  allow  his  prejudice  to  interfere  with  his 
judgment.  That  was  not  business.  He  resolved  to 
hear  what  the  man  had  to  say. 

"What  do  you  want  ?"  he  asked  bluntly. 

Mascola  walked  unbidden  to  a  chair  and  seated 
himself  before  replying:  "You  will  want  fish  before 


24  EL  DIABLO 

long,  Mr.  Gregory.     I  would  like  to  contract  for  my 
men  to  get  them  for  you." 

Gregory  was  nettled  by  Mascola's  calm  assurance. 
He  had  a  mind  to  send  him  packing.  Blair,  he  remem 
bered,  had  evidently  had  but  little  use  for  the  Italian. 
But  Blair  too  might  have  been  prejudiced.  It  was 
business  perhaps  to  hear  the  man's  proposal. 

'  "What    is   your   proposition?"    he    asked,    hoping 
Mascola  would  be  brief. 

In  this  he  was  not  disappointed.  Mascola  plunged 
his  hand  into  the  pocket  of  his  vest  and  drew  forth  a 
paper  which  he  placed  in  Gregory's  hand. 

Gregory  ran  his  eye  hastily  over  the  typewritten 
sheet  which  contained  the  memorandum  of  four  num 
bered  clauses.  They  were  briefly  worded  and  to  the 
point : 

1.  The  fishermen  to  furnish  albacore,  tuna  and 
sardines  at  the  same  price  paid  by  the  Golden  Rule 
Cannery. 

2.  The  cannery  to  assume  complete  liability  for 
all   boats   and   equipment  used   by  the   fishermen   in 
providing  fish  for  it. 

3.  The  cannery  to  agree  to  pay  all  fines,  state  and 
federal,    for  any  violation   of   fishing  or  navigation 
laws. 

4.  The  cannery  to  agree,  under  bonds,  to  hire  no 
men  who  are  not  members  of  the  fishermen's  union. 

Gregory  looked  up  to  meet  Mascola's  dark  eyes 
regarding  him  intently. 


TANGLED  THREADS  25 

"That  is  all,"  said  the  Italian  boss. 

"It's  enough,"  commented  Gregory  tersely,  striv 
ing  to  hold  his  temper  in  check  at  the  impudence  of 
Mascola's  proposal.  Any  one  of  the  four  clauses  he 
realized  would  be  amply  sufficient  to  throw  him  into 
bankruptcy.  The  first  would  place  him  in  the  hands 
of  his  local  competitor,  a  Slavonian.  The  last  would 
deliver  all  that  was  left  to  the  fisherman's  union,  also 
foreigners.  By  the  second  clause  his  property  \vould 
be  placed  in  jeopardy  to  protect  the  carelessness  or 
incompetence  of  others,  aliens  all.  And  the  third, 
Gregory  did  not  clearly  understand.  To  satisfy  his 
curiosity  he  asked : 

"What  do  you  mean  by  the  cannery  agreeing  to 
pay  the  fines  ?" 

Mascola  smiled  pityingly,  exposing  a  fine  set  of 
even  teeth. 

"You  are  a  stranger  here.  I  forgot.  So  you  do 
not  know  that  it  is  necessary  for  fishermen  to  break 
the  law  sometimes  to  get  fish.  The  canneries  must 
have  them.  They  ask  no  questions.  If  we  can  get 
them  without  breaking  the  laws  it  is  so  much  the 
better.  But  sometimes  when  you  have  steam  up  you 
want  fish  very  bad.  Then  you  say,  Mascola,  I  must 
have  fish.  Well,  I  get  them  for  you.  There  are 
always  fish  to  be  caught  in  some  way  or  other.  They 
are  worth  a  good  deal  to  you  at  such  a  time.  Why 
should  you  not  pay  for  the  extra  risk  we  run  in  getting 
them?" 

It  was  Gregory's  turn  to  smile 


26  EL  DIABLO 

"Rather  ingenious,"  he  commented.  "Do  you  find 
it  necessary  to  go  to  such  extremes  often?" 

Mascola  sensed  the  sarcasm.  A  faint  flush  crept  to 
his  dark  cheeks.  He  began  to  suspect  that  the  young 
man  was  not  taking  either  him  or  his  proposition  seri 
ously.  Perhaps  he  had  said  too  much.  He  answered 
the  question  with  one  word. 

"No." 

Gregory  studied  Mascola's  face  and  his  smile  faded. 
His  irritation  at  the  Italian's  entrance  had  at  first 
given  place  to  amusement  at  the  absurdity  of  the 
man's  proposal.  Now  came  again  the  feeling  of  dis 
like  which  had  assailed  him  on  the  occasion  of  his 
first  meeting  with  Mascola. 

"Mascola,"  he  said,  "I'll  keep  your  proposition  in 
mind.  That  is  just  about  all  I  ever  will  do  with  it, 
I  guess,  though  I'll  talk  it  over  with  Blair." 

The  Italian  frowned  at  the  mention  of  Blair.  He 
had  supposed  Blair  to  be  gone.  Had  not  Rossi 
reported  the  departure  of  the  former  manager  more 
than  a  month  ago  ?  Blair  would  be  a  stumbling-block 
to  his  scheme.  Blair  knew  too  much.  Mascola  real 
ized  that  he  had  been  too  confident.  He  felt,  more 
over,  that  he  had  made  a  fool  of  himself.  Had  not 
the  young  man  smiled?  His  anger  mounted  at  the 
recollection.  He  rose  quickly,  fighting  it  down. 

"All  right,  Mr.  Gregory,"  he  said  smoothly.  "I 
make  my  proposition.  I  come  to  you  this  time.  You 
do  not  accept.  It  is  all  right.  Next  time  you  come 
to  me." 


TANGLED  THREADS  27 

Bowing  slightly  and  smiling  to  hide  his  anger,  he 
went  out. 

Gregory  turned  again  to  his  work,  but  found  it 
hard  to  keep  his  mind  from  the  Italian's  veiled  threat. 
It  angered  him.  Mascola  had  appeared  so  sure  of  his 
ground.  His  irritation  grew  as  his  eye  fell  again  on 
the  Lang  contract.  If  he  only  had  some  one  with 
whom  he  could  talk.  Some  one  who  knew  something 
about  fishing  or  running  a  cannery.  Some  one  who 
would  understand  what  he  was  up  against.  His  father 
evidently  had  few  if  any  confidants.  If  he  had  only 
left  some  written  word. 

From  the  cannery  came  the  sound  of  excited 
voices,  a  jargon  of  unintelligible  words.  Gregory 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  hurried  out.  He  met  Mascola 
coming  to  meet  him.  Behind  him  trooped  the  alien 
laborers. 

The  Italian  stopped  abruptly  and  threw  out  his 
arm  with  a  dramatic  gesture.  Pointing  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  solitary  soldier  who  stood  staring  with 
open  mouth,  he  said :  "My  men,  they  do  not  work 
with  scabs,  Mr.  Gregory.  You  let  that  man  go,  or 
they  quit." 

"Let  them  quit." 

Gregory  spoke  quickly  and  tried  to  smile.  Losing 
his  temper  would  not  help  matters.  That  wasn't 
business. 

Mascola  spoke  rapidly  to  the  men  in  their  own 
tongue,  waving  his  arms  and  rolling  his  eyes.  Greg 
ory  noticed  that  every  one  seemed  to  be  getting  excited. 


28  EL  DIABLO 

With  scowling-  faces,  the  alien  laborers  grouped  them 
selves  about  their  leader  and  glared  at  the  offending 
soldier  and  his  boss. 

Gregory  checked  a  quick  impulse  forcibly  to  show 
Mascola  the  door.  It  was  the  right  of  every  man  to 
refuse  to  work  if  the  job  was  not  to  his  liking.  There 
was,  however,  nothing  to  get  excited  over.  He  turned 
to  Mascola. 

"Tell  your  men  to  come  into  the  office  and  get 
their  money,"  he  said. 

His  quiet  manner  disappointed  the  Italian  boss. 
He  had  hoped  for  a  scene.  An  argument  at  least. 
His  men  expected  more  of  him  than  this.  Gregory 
had  calmly  turned  his  back  upon  him  and  was  walking 
away.  Mascola  could  stand  no  more. 

"All  right,  Gregory,"  he  called.  "You  go  ahead 
and  hire  a  scab  crew.  Then  you'll  find  out  you're 
the  same  damn  fool  as  your  father." 

Gregory  whirled.  Mascola's  hand  leaped  to  his 
side,  burying  itself  in  the  folds  of  hi's  shirt.  Before 
he  could  bring  it  out,  Kenneth  Gregory  was  upon  him. 

His  fist  caught  Mascola  full  on  the  chin.  The 
Italian's  head  snapped  backward.  His  feet  shot  for 
ward.  He  clutched  at  the  air  for  support  and  strove 
to  regain  his  balance.  Then  he  fell  to  the  floor,  rolled 
over  like  a  cat,  and  rebounded  to  his  feet,  snarling. 

Gregory  heard  a  warning  cry  from  Barnes: 
"Look  out!  He's  got  a  knife." 

Barnes  looked  vainly  about  for  a  weapon  as  he  ran 
to  his  employer's  assistance. 


TANGLED  THREADS  29 

The  laborers  pressed  closer,  their  brown  hands 
fingering  their  belts,  their  faces  dark  with  passion. 
Hemmed  in  on  every  side  by  the  scowling  aliens, 
Gregory  took  a  step  forward  and  stood  waiting. 

Mascola  advanced  warily  with  peculiar  sideling 
steps.  His  face  was  a  mottled  gray  save  in  one  place 
where  his  chin  was  flecked  with  blood.  His  left  arm 
was  extended  guard-wise.  His  right  was  crooked 
loosely  to  his  side,  fingers  covered.  He  crouched  low 
and  gathered. 

Gregory  measured  the  distance  which  separated 
him  from  the  advancing  Italian.  Faintly  to  his  ears 
came  the  sound  of  creaking  boards  behind  him.  Per 
haps  Mascola's  men  were  pressing  in  from  the  rear. 
He  dared  not  look  to  see.  His  eyes  were  held  by 
Mascola's  crooked  arm.  That  was  what  he  must  grab 
and  break. 

Mascola's  dark  eyes,  shining  with  anger,  flashed 
over  Gregory's  shoulder  to  the  door  beyond.  Then 
they  widened  with  surprise.  He  stopped  suddenly. 
His  extended  arm  drooped.  For  an  instant  he  stood 
hesitating,  wavering.  He  took  a  step  backward.  His 
crooked  arm  unbent,  dropped  slowly  to  his  side. 

His  eyes  were  held  by  the  open  door. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  WORK  OF  THEIR  FATHERS 

r\ROP  it,  Mascola." 

The  sharp  command  drew  the  eyes  of  the  laborers 
to  the  door  and  they  stopped  fingering  their  knives. 
Shuffling  closer  together  they  looked  to  their  leader 
for  guidance. 

Mascola's  eyes  darted  about  the  floor,  coming  to 
rest  upon  a  big  vat  only  a  few  feet  away.  For  an 
instant  he  hesitated.  A  faint  metallic  click  from  the 
doorway  caused  him  to  make  up  his  mind.  His  body 
straightened  as  his  hands  traveled  upward  to  the  level 
of  his  shoulders.  The  palm  of  his  right  hand  opened 
and  a  thin  two-edged  blade  rattled  to  the  floor. 

Gregory  took  a  step  forward  and  shoved  the  knife 
away  with  his  foot.  Keeping  one  eye  fixed  warily 
upon  Mascola,  he  shot  a  glance  over  his  shoulder  to 
determine  the  author  of  the  interruption. 

He  turned  to  see  a  trim  little  figure  in  loosely- 
fitting  outing  clothes  striding  across  the  floor.  Facing 
the  light  which  streamed  in  from  the  open  door,  he 
could  not  distinguish  the  newcomer's  face.  He  only 
noted  the  ease  of  the  stranger's  movements,  the  poise 
of  the  uptilted  head  and  the  nervous  manner  with 

30 


THE  WORK  OF  THEIR  FATHERS        31 

which  the  Italians  fell  away  before  the  advancing 
figure. 

"What's  the  trouble?" 

Gregory  stared.  It  was  a  girl.  She  had  turned 
into  the  light  and  was  facing  him.  As  he  formed  an 
answer  to  her  question  he  sawr  that  her  sun-bronzed 
cheeks  were  flushed  with  red  and  her  clear  brown 
eyes  were  looking  into  his  inquiringly.  In  her  hand 
she  held  an  automatic  revolver. 

Gregory  strove  to  make  his  explanation  brief. 

"These  men  refused  to  work.  I  told  them  to  go. 
Mascola  and  I  had  some  trouble.  He  drew  his  knife 
Then  you  came." 

The  girl  nodded,  dislodging  a  lock  of  red-gold  hair 
from  under  her  knitted  cap.  Turning  quickly  to 
Mascola,  she  commanded:  "Get  out." 

Mascola  made  no  sign  that  he  intended  to  comply 
with  the  order.  Writh  folded  arms  he  looked  inso 
lently  at  the  speaker. 

"When  my  men  are  paid,  I  will  go.  But  first,  I 
must  have  my  knife." 

His  eyes  roved  longingly  in  the  direction  of  the 
dagger. 

The  girl  took  a  quick  step  backward  and  covered 
Mascola's  waist-line  with  the  automatic. 

"You'll  go  now,"  she  said.  Turning  to  Gregory 
she  added :  "Tell  him  you'll  pay  him  down-town." 

Gregory  picked  up  the  Italian's  knife  before 
replying : 


32  EL  DIABLO 

"I'll  be  at  the  bank  at  two,"  he  said,  making  no 
move  to  comply  with  Mascola's  request  for  his  weapon. 

Mascola  clenched  his  hands.  His  face  grew  red 
with  passion.  For  an  instant  he  glared  from  Gregory 
to  the  girl.  Then  the  color  faded.  Turning  to  his  men 
he  spoke  rapi'dly  to  them  in  their  own  tongue.  The 
workmen  retired  sullenly  and  picking  up  their  coats 
followed  their  leader  to  the  door.  Mascola  hesitated 
for  a  moment  on  the  threshold.  Then,  checking  the 
angry  threat  which  rose  to  his  lips,  he  went  out. 

Gregory  watched  him  go  in  silence.  Then  he 
turned  to  the  girl. 

"My  name  is  Gregory,"  he  said.  "You  happened 
along  just  about  right  for  me." 

The  tense  lines  about  the  girl's  mouth  disappeared 
slowly  as  she  passed  a  small  brown  hand  across  her 
forehead  and  replaced  a  truant  lock. 

"I  am  Dickie  Lang/'  she  announced  simply. 
Shoving  the  automatic  into  her  coat  pocket,  she 
extended  her  hand.  "I  knew  your  father  well.  I  am 
glad  to  meet  you." 

The  frankness  of  the  words  was  strengthened  by 
the  look  of  sincerity  in  the  brown  eyes  as  she  stood 
calmly  looking  him  over. 

Gregory  curbed  his  surprise  with  an  effort  which 
left  him  staring  at  the  girl  in  awkward  silence.  When 
he  had  thought  of  Lang's  daughter  at  all,  it  had  been 
only  in  the  most  abstract  way.  He  had  regarded  her 
only  a  possible  and  very  probable  source  of  trouble, 


THE  WORK  OF  THEIR  FATHERS        33 

scarcely  as  a  flesh  and  blood  woman  at  all.     Never 
a  girl  like  this. 

He  wakened  to  the  fact  that  he  was  a  very  stupid 
host.  Barnes,  after  staring  at  Dickie  Lang  for  a 
moment,  had  retired  to  his  work,  leaving  Gregory 
alone  with  his  guest  in  the  middle  of  the  receiving 
floor. 

"Won't  you  come  into  the  office?" 

The  words  came  hesitatingly.  He  nodded  in  the 
direction  of  the  screen-door. 

"Yes.     I  would  like  to  talk  with  you." 

Again  the  direct  straightforward  manner  of 
speaking.  Dickie  Lang  started  at  once  for  the  office, 
walking  across  the  floor  with  quick  impatient  steps. 
Gregory  held  the  door  open  and  as  the  girl  brushed 
by  him,  he  saw  her  flash  a  glance  to  the  door  of  his 
father's  office  beyond.  He  led  the  way  in  silence 
to  the  room  where  he  had  been  working  and  waited 
for  his  visitor  to  be  seated. 

Dickie  Lang's  eyes  roved  swiftly  about  the  room, 
taking  in  the  familiar  details.  Nothing  had  been 
changed.  She  could  see  her  father  leaning  against  the 
desk,  his  great  shoulders  hunched  forward,  his  big 
hands  nervously  toying  with  the  glass  paper-weight, 
his  blue  eyes  fixed  upon  the  silent  figure  in  the  swivel- 
chair.  Again  she  could  hear  the  voice  of  Richard 
Gregory : 

"All  right,  Bill.  I'll  see  you  through.  Go  ahead 
and  get  the  boats." 


34  EL  DIABLO 

Dickie  realized  with  a  start  that  the  square-jawed, 
black-eyed  young  man  before  her  was  Richard 
Gregory's  son.  The  past  faded  away.  With  simple 
directness  she  plunged  into  the  object  of  her  visit. 

"I've  brought  the  money  due  on  the  boats.  Got 
into  a  squabble  with  the  markets  and  they  tied  me  up 
for  a  few  days.  Otherwise  I  would  have  been  here 


sooner." 


Thrusting  her  hand  into  her  pocket,  she  drew  out 
a  roll  of  bills  and  beg~an  to  count  them. 

Gregory  watched  her  as  she  thumbed  the  bank 
notes.  The  dark  brown  corduroy  was  simply,  if  man- 
nishly  cut,  and  in  a  way  it  became  her.  Her  small 
feet  and  rounded  ankles  would  have  appeared  to  better 
advantage  in  high-heeled  shoes  and  silk  stockings  than 
those  blunt-nosed  boots  and  canvas  leggings.  And 
why  in  the  name  of  common  sense  would  any  woman 
with  hair  like  that  want  to  keep  it  tucked  away  under 
a  close-fitting  cap?  She  would  have  been  beautiful 
in —  He  roused  himself  from  his  examination  of  the 
girl's  attire  and  strove  to  fix  his  mind  on  the  object 
of  her  visit.  He  reached  for  the  receipt-book  as  she 
finished  counting  the  money. 

"Tenth  payment,"  she  exclaimed.  "Five  hundred. 
Makes  twelve  thousand  even.  That  right?" 

Gregory  ran  over  the  money,  consulting  his  note 
book  to  verify  the  figures. 

"Right,"  he  answered. 

While  he  wrote  the  receipt  she  studied  him.  So 
this  was  the  man  whom  Richard  Gregory  had  desig- 


THE  WORK  OF  THEIR  FATHERS        35 

nated  as  a  red-blooded  American.  The  father's  praise 
of  his  absent  son,  she  was  forced  to  admit,  had  slightly 
prejudiced  her  against  the  young  man.  No  single  indi 
vidual  could  possess  all  the  sterling  traits  of  character 
attributed  to  him  by  the  late  cannery  owner.  That 
was  impossible.  He  would  fall  down  somewhere. 

Gregory  handed  the  girl  her  receipt. 

"And  now/'  he  began,  somewhat  uncertain  as 
to  just  how  to  proceed,  "what  do  you  intend  to  do 
about  the  boats?" 

Dickie  Lang  paused  in  the  act  of  folding  the  paper 
and  looked  up  quickly.  For  some  reason  she  felt 
herself  irritated  by  the  question.  Her  irritation  crept 
into  her  voice  as  she  answered: 

"I'm  going  to  run  them,  of  course." 

Gregory  straightened  in  his  chair  and  faced  about. 

"You're  going  to  run  them?''  he  repeated.  "You 
don't  mean  yourself?" 

"Sure.  What  else  would  I  do  with  them?"  she 
asked  coldlv. 

mi 

The  man  was  caught  for  the  moment  unawares  by 
the  suddenness  of  the  question. 

"I  thought  perhaps  you  would  want  to  sell  them," 
he  answered  bluntly. 

"Why?"  Her  voice  had  a  belligerent  ring  and  he 
noticed  that  her  eyes  were  snapping.  As  he  did  not 
immediately  reply,  she  flashed:  "I  know  why.  It's 
because  I'm  a  woman.  You  think  I  can't  make  good. 
Isn't  that  it?" 

Gregory  felt  his  cheeks  burn  at  the  feeling  she 


36  EL  DIABLO 

threw  into  her  words.  He  hadn't  meant  to  make  it 
quite  so  plain  but  if  she  insisted  on  the  truth,  why 
not?  Perhaps  it  was  the  best  way. 

"You've  guessed  it,"  he  answered  slowly.  "You 
may  call  it  prejudice  if  you  like,  but  that  is  just  the 
way  I  feel." 

Tapping  the  floor  angrily  with  her  foot,  she  inter 
rupted  : 

"It's  worse  than  prejudice.  It's  just  plain  damn- 
foolishness.  Honestly,  after  all  I've  heard  of  you,  I 
gave  you  credit  for  having  more  sense.  Your  father 
wouldn't  have  said  that.  He  believed  there  wasn't  a 
thing  in  the  world  a  man  or  woman  couldn't  do,  if 
they  tried  hard  enough.  And  he  gave  them  the 
chance  to  make  good.  But  I'll  tell  you  right  now, 
you've  got  a  lot  to  learn  before  you'll  be  able  to  wear 
his  hat." 

Gregory  sank  deeper  into  his  chair  as  Dickie  Lang 
proceeded  with  his  arraignment.  Nothing  could  be 
said  until  she  was  through.  His  silence  gave  the  girl 
a  free  rein  to  express  her  feelings. 

"You  think  I  don't  know  my  game  because  I'm  a 
woman.  Why,  I've  been  on  the  sea  since  I  was  a  kid. 
If  my  father  hadn't  made  me  go  to  school,  I  would 
have  lived  with  him  on  the  water.  And  don't  you 
suppose  in  fishing  with  a  man  like  Bill  Lang,  a  person 
learns  something?  Doesn't  that  more  than  make  up 
for  the  handicap  of  being  a  woman  ?" 

The  young  man  waited  for  a  chance  to  put  in  a 


THE  WORK  OF  THEIR  FATHERS        37 

word  but  none  came.  Becoming  angrier  each  minute, 
she  hurried  on  : 

"There  isn't  a  man  in  Legonia  but  you  who  would 
have  said  that.  Not  even  Mascola.  He  hates  me  only 
because  I  do  know  my  business.  And  you,  a  stranger, 
come  down  here  and  tell  me — " 

"I  didn't  say  you  didn't  know  your  business/' 
Gregory  interjected  as  she  drew  a  long  breath. 

"No,  but  you  thought  it  just  the  same.  And  what 
right  have  you  to  think  things  like  that  ?  What  do  you 
know  about  things  here?  You  never  saw  the  place 
until  just  a  few  weeks  ago.  And  you've  been  gone 
ever  since.  I'll  bet  you  were  never  in  a  fish  cannery 
before  in  your  life.  I'll  bet  right  now  you  don't  know 
what  you're  going  to  do  next.  You're  waiting  for 
Blair  to  get  well  and  tell  you.  Suppose  he  doesn't. 
He's  a  mighty  sick  man  and  it's  a  cinch  if  he  does 
come  back  it  won't  be  for  a  long  time.  What  are  you 
going  to  do  in  the  meantime  besides  tell  me  I  don't — " 

Gregory  held  up  his  hand  to  check  a  further  out 
burst. 

"Listen,"  he  said.  "There  is  no  use  going  on  like 
this.  Our  fathers  were  the  best  of  friends.  Why 
can't  we  be  the  same?  I'm  willing  to  admit  there  is 
a  lot  of  truth  in  what  you  say  about  my  not  knowing 
just  what  I'm  going  to  do  right  now.  I  didn't  select 
the  position  I'm  in,  but  I'm  going  to  make  the  best  of 
things  as  they  are  and  finish  up  the  work  which  was 
begun  by  my  father.  And  I  want  to  say  right  now 
that  I'm  going  to  finish  it. 


38  EL  DIABLO 

"In  a  way,"  he  went  on  slowly,  "our  positions  are 
somewhat  similar.  We  each  have  a  job  to  finish.  I 
didn't  think  yours  meant  as  much  to  you  as  mine  does 
to  me,  though  of  course  I  might  have,  if  I  hadn't  been 
thinking  so  much  of  myself.  Our  fathers  worked 
together  and  got  along  fine.  It  may  be  that  we  can  do 
the  same  thing." 

The  fire  died  slowly  from  the  girl's  eyes.  In  its 
place  there  came  an  expression,  more  wistful  perhaps 
than  anything  else.  When  she  spoke  again  the  irri 
tation  was  gone  from  her  voice. 

"No,"  she  answered.  "There  isn't  any  reason  why 
we  can't  be  friends.  And  there  are  a  lot  of  reasons 
why  we  should  be.  I'm  willing  to  do  my  part  and  I'll 
show  you,  Mr.  Gregory,  that  I  do  know  my  busi 
ness.  It  always  makes  me  mad  when  any  one  thinks 
I  don't  know  the  sea.  When  dad  wanted  to  tease  me 
he  always  called  me  a  'land-lubber/  And  even  when 
a  kid  I  would  always  fight  at  that." 

She  paused  a  moment.    Then  went  on : 

"I'd  like  to  do  what  I  can  for  you  for  two  reasons. 
Your  father  did  a  lot  for  mine.  He  was  one  of  my 
few  friends.  I'd  like  to  give  his  son  a  hand  if  it  would 
help.  In  the  second  place,  it  is  to  my  interest  in  a 
business  way  to  see  your  cannery  succeed.  It  is  a 
market  for  my  fish.  I  won't  sell  to  the  Golden  Rule 
and  the  dealers  won't  pay  the  express  on  canning  fish. 
The  sooner  you  start  up  the  better  it  will  be  for  me. 
I  can  tell  you  right  now  you  have  a  lot  to  do." 


THE  WORK  OF  THEIR  FATHERS        39 

Again  she  paused  and  looked  down  at  her  feet. 
When  she  spoke  again  it  was  with  some  hesitation. 

"If  I  were  you  I'd  get  hold  of  Jack  McCoy.  He 
can  do  more  for  you  than  any  one  else.  I  wouldn't 
count  too  much  on  Blair.  I  heard  from  him  this 
morning  and  they  didn't  hold  out  much  hope.  He's 
completely  run  down  and  that's  the  kind  pneumonia 
hits  hard." 

Gregory  nodded. 

"I  know,"  he  said.  Then  he  asked:  "McCoy  was 
the  foreman,  wasn't  he?" 

"Yes.  He's  still  in  town.  Blair  gave  him  a  letter 
of  recommendation  but  Jack  wron't  look  for  another 
job  until  he  knows  what  Blair  is  going  to  do.  He 
says  Blair  taught  him  all  he  knows  and  he's  going  to 
stick  to  him  because  he  always  treated  him  white." 

Gregory  wrote  McCoy's  address  which  the  girl 
supplied  and  she  continued : 

"One  of  the  first  things  to  be  done,  of  course,  will 
be  to  go  all  over  the  machinery.  That  won't  take 
long.  Then  the  supplies  and  material  will  have  to  be 
checked  over  and  the  new  stuff  ordered.  That  will 
take  a  week  for  two  men." 

Gregory  looked  at  the  girl  with  more  respect. 
Apparently  she  knew  something  of  his  business  as 
well  as  her  own.  Doubtless  her  association  with  her 
father  had  brought  her  into  close  touch  with  the 
cannery.  As  she  went  on,  Dickie  Lang  divulged  the 
source  of  her  information. 


40  EL  DIABLO 

"Jack  and  I  have  talked  you  over  a  lot,"  she  said 
soberly.  "We  are  both  anxious  to  see  you  get  going." 

While  she  talked  on  concerning  the  re-opening  of 
the  cannery,  Gregory  wondered  to  what  extent  her 
opinion  of  McCoy's  ability  was  based  by  personal 
prejudice.  Of  course  it  was  nothing  to  him  what 
Dickie  Lang  thought  of  McCoy  or  of  himself  either, 
for  that  matter.  He  decided  to  look  McCoy  up  at 
once. 

'Then  you  have  to  get  your  labor,"  she  went  on. 
"And  that  isn't  as  easy,  I  have  found,  as  it  seems.  You 
see  Mascola  has  the  bulge  on  the  labor  situation  around 
here.  He  has  the  riff-raff  of  the  world  on  his  pay 
roll.  They  speak  in  a  dozen  different  languages. 
Everything  almost — but  English.  They  are  prac 
tically  all  aliens  and  there  is  nothing  they  won't  do  to 
keep  a  decent  man  out.  Blair  had  hard  work  to  get 
a  crew,  I  know,  and  harder  work  to  keep  it.  He  was 
always  hiring  and  firing.  Things  would  go  all  right 
for  a  while.  Then  there  would  come  a  row  with 
Mascola's  outfit  and  a  lot  of  the  boys  would  get  dis 
gusted  and  leave." 

Gregory  interrupted: 

"I  understand  from  my  father's  attorney,  that  one 
of  the  biggest  things  he  had  to  contend  with  was  the 
matter  of  getting  fish." 

"I'm  coming  to  that  in  a  minute.  Let's  finish  up 
the  labor  question  while  we're  on  it.  You've  got  to 
get  a  certain  number  of  skilled  men  who  can  handle 
the  machines.  With  a  few  others  who  have  worked  in 


THE  WORK  OF  THEIR  FATHERS        41 

a  fish  cannery  you  can  go  ahead,  for  the  biggest 
percentage  of  your  labor  is  unskilled  anyway  and  has 
to  be  broken  in.  Men  like  that  are  the  hardest  to  get," 
she  concluded,  "they  are  mostly  tramps.  Here  to-day 
and  gone  to-morrow.  You  can't  depend  on  them. 
If  you  can  get  a  bunch  to  stick,  you're  mighty  lucky." 

She  paused  and  moved  her  chair  nearer.  Then 
she  broached  the  important  subject. 

"About  the  fish,  you  can  do  one  of  three  things. 
Or  rather  two  things,"  she  corrected,  "for  I  hardly 
think  you'll  tie  up  with  Mascola.  You  can  fix  up  your 
own  boats,  try  to  man  them  and  get  your  own  fish. 
You  have  twenty-five  boats.  That's  not  enough  even 
if  they  were  all  in  good  shape,  which  they're  not." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  trying  to  man  my  boats  ?" 

The  girl  smiled. 

"Just  what  I  say,"  she  answered.  "Fishermen  are 
scarce.  My  father  was  in  business  here  for  twenty 
years  and  most  of  the  time  he  was  running  short- 
handed.  You  can  get  plenty  of  men  to  ride  on  your 
boats  but  they  are  not  fishermen." 

Noting  the  direction  in  which  the  conversation  was 
drifting,  Gregory  resolved  to  hasten  the  climax. 

"Do  you  think  you  could  furnish  me  with  enough 
fish?"  he  asked  bluntly. 

"I  don't  think  anything  about  it.    I  know  I  could." 

"How  do  you  know  it?" 

She  hesitated  as  she  cast  about  in  her  active  brain 
for  a  tangible  argument  to  convince  the  obstinate, 
square-jawed  man  before  her.  Of  course  she  could 


42  EL  DIABLO 

get  him  the  fish.  But  how  could  she  make  him  believe 
it? 

"My  fishermen  know  the  coast  for  one  thing,"  she 
began.  "That's  a  whole  lot  around  here.  It's  a  treach 
erous  shore-line  and  a  man  who  doesn't  know  it  can 
lose  a  boat  mighty  easy.  Then,  I  have  ten  new  boats, 
just  the  kind  you  have  to  have  for  albacore  and  tuna. 
As  a  general  rule  you've  got  to  go  way  out  to  sea  to 
get  them.  Sometimes  as  far  as  Diablo.  And  that 
means  trouble.  If  you've  ever  been  out  to  that  God 
forsaken  island  you'll  understand  that  it  takes  real 
men  and  boats.  I  have  both." 

Gregory  said  nothing,  but  waited  for  the  girl  to 
finish : 

"I  know  my  game,"  she  concluded,  with  no  spirit 
of  bravado,  but  merely  as  if  it  was  only  a  plain  state 
ment  of  fact.  "My  men  are  used  to  holding  their  own 
against  Mascola.  And  I  can  tell  you  that  is  worth  a 
lot." 

Gregory  nodded.     Then  he  said  quietly : 

"Your  father  was  never  able  to  supply  mine  with 
enough  fish  to  keep  this  cannery  going.  Isn't  that 
right?" 

Dickie  Lang  was  forced  to  admit  the  truth  of  the 
statement.  Then  she  qualified:  "He  hadn't  had  the 
big  boats  but  a  few  months  and  they  had  a  run  of 
bad  luck  from  the  start." 

Gregory  considered  her  words  carefully. 

"Would  you  be  willing  to  enter  into  a  contract 
with  me  to  keep  the  cannery  supplied  with  fish?"  he 


THE  WORK  OF  THEIR  FATHERS        43 

asked,  watching  her  closely.  For  the  first  time  he 
saw  her  show  signs  of  receding  from  her  original 
position. 

Dickie  Lang  hesitated.  Her  fear  of  legal  entangle 
ments  was  hereditary.  Bill  Lang  had  settled  his  differ 
ences  out  of  court  and  had  warned  his  daughter  on 
more  than  one  occasion  of  the  dangers  which  lurked 
in  a  contract.  She  shook  her  head.  What  did  she 
know  *o£-  this  man,  save  the  fact  that  he  bore  his 
father's  name? 

"No,"  she  answered,  feeling,  however,  that  she  had 
weakened  her  previous  statement  by  refusing  to  make 
it  legally  binding. 

"Why  not?" 

The  girl  realized  that  their  positions  were  becom 
ing  reversed.  It  was  she  now  who  was  on  the  defen 
sive. 

"Because,"  she  answered  slowly,  "I  wouldn't." 
Ashamed  that  she  had  given  the  proverbial  reason  for 
feminine  change  of  mind,  she  added  quickly:  "You 
see  you  may  be  all  right.  And  then  again  you  may 
not.  I'd  like  a  chance  to  size  you  up  first." 

Gregory  smiled.  "That  was  what  I  thought  about 
you  at  the  beginning  of  our  talk,"  he  said.  His  face 
became  instantly  serious.  "We'll  just  have  to  size 
each  other  up  before  we  can  actually  get  down  to 
cases.  Isn't  that  the  truth?" 

She  nodded.  "Yes.  You  think  I  can't  make 
good." 

"And  you  just  don't  know  about  me,"  Gregory 


44  EL  DIABLO 

finished  for  her.  Then  he  added :  "How  are  we 
going  to  find  out  about  each  other?" 

Dickie  regarded  him  gravely. 

"The  ocean  is  the  best  test  for  a  man  or  a  woman 
that  I  know.  It  doesn't  play  any  favorites.  When 
a  girl  goes  out  there  all  'dolled-up'  it  washes  off  the 
paint  and  powder  and  shows  her  up  for  just  what  she 
is.  And  it  shows  a  man  up  too.  It's  always  waiting 
for  him  to  make  some  mistake.  When  he  does,  he  has 
to  think  and  act  at  the  same  time.  He  can't  hedge 
or  make  excuses.  He's  got  to  pay  or  play.  A  quitter 
has  no  chance  with  the  sea." 

Observing  him  closely,  she  concluded:  "I  could 
tell  more  about  you  on  the  sea  in  a  minute  than  I 
could  find  out  in  here  in  a  month." 

"And  I  could  find  out  whether  or  not  I  thought 
you  knew  your  business." 

They  laughed  together. 

"I'll  be  ready  any  time." 

Dickie  was  on  her  feet  at  his  words. 

"To-morrow  morning  then,  at  four  o'clock.  Meet 
me  at  our  dock  and  I'll  show  you  I  know  what  I'm 
talking  about." 

Gregory  promised  and  the  girl  hurried  out. 

For  some  time  the  young  cannery  owner  scratched 
busily  at  the  pad  of  paper  before  him,  jotting  down 
the  substance  of  his  interview  with  Dickie  Lang. 
Passing  through  the  cannery  he  came  upon  the  soli 
tary  remnant  of  his  floor  force  whom  he  had  forgotten 
for  the  time  being. 


THE  WORK  OF  THEIR  FATHERS        45 

"I'm  going  down-town  for  a  few  minutes,  Barnes. 
If  anybody  asks  for  me,  tell  them  I'll  be  back  in  half 
an  hour." 

The  ex-soldier's  eyes  brightened  at  the  sight  of 
his  employer. 

"Say,  Mr.  Gregory,  you  took  me  on  quick  and 
stayed  by  me,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  think  I  don't 
appreciate  it,  for  I  do.  Now  that  you've  canned  the 
other  gang,  I  wonder  if  there'd  be  any  chance  for  a 
couple  of  my  pals.  We've  been  drifting  around 
together  and  their  shoes  is  worn  out  same  as  mine." 

"What  can  they  do?" 

"One  of  them's  a  chauffeur.  He  ain't  afraid  of 
nothin'.  And  he  can  drive  anything  on  wheels.  The 
other  one's  a  steam-fitter  by  trade,  but  he'll  be  glad  to 
nurse  a  broom  or  anything  else  right  now." 

Gregory  was  on  the  point  of  telling  Barnes  to  wait 
until  he  had  conferred  with  McCoy  when  he  noticed 
the  peculiar  manner  with  which  his  employee  held  his 
broom. 

"What's  the  matter  with  your  arm?"  he  asked 
quietly. 

Barnes  tapped  the  member  in  question  and 
regarded  him  somewhat  doubtfully. 

"NothinV  he  said. 

Gregory  stepped  nearer  and  examined  the  shoulder 
carefully. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  your  arm  had  been  hurt  ?" 
he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

Barnes  met  his  eyes  squarely. 


46  EL  DIABLO 

"Because  I  was  afraid  it  would  queer  me  for  a  job," 
he  said.  "You  see,  Gregory,  when  a  man  hires  a  fellow 
he  figures  he's  all  there.  He  kind  of  rents  him  all  over 
and  when  he's  shy  on  somethin',  he  kind  of  figures  the 
fellow's  holding  back  on  him.  I  didn't  want  to  slip 
anything  over  on  you.  Because  you  were  white  to  me 
from  the  start.  But  I  was  afraid  when  you  saw  my 
pin  was  faked  you  might  change  your  mind." 

Gregory's  eyes  were  fixed  intently  on  the  soldier 
as  he  went  on :  .. 

"You  see  I  got  my  insurance.  But  that  ain't 
enough.  My  old  man  died  while  I  was  away.  And 
my  mother  ain't  any  too  well.  So  I  just  lets  her  have 
the  money.  But  that  ain't  all  there  is  te  it.  You  see 
when  a  fellow's  worked  and  hit  the  ball,  he  don't  want 
to  lay  round  and  loaf." 

Still  Gregory  said  nothing,  and  Barnes,  .miscon 
struing  his  silence,  continued : 

"It's  wonderful  what  a  fellow  can  do  with  what 
the  doctors  leave  him  when  they  get  through  cuttin'. 
You  ought  to  go  up  to  Port  Angeles  and  see  what  the 
Bureau's  teaching  the  poor  blind  devils.  It  kind  of 
seems  like  their  eyes  goes  into  their  arms  and  legs,  for 
they  can  do  more  with  them  now  than  they  ever 
thought  of  doing  before  they  lost  their  lamps." 

He  extended  his  good  arm  and  flexed  the  muscles 
until  they  stood  out  like  lumps  of  whip-cord.  "Look 
at  that,"  he  exclaimed.  "They's  twice  the  pep  in  that 
one  since  they  hacked  up  the  other  one.  You  don't 
need  to  be  afraid  of  me  not  doing  a  day's  work.  I — " 


THE  WORK  OF  THEIR  FATHERS        47 

"Are  there  many  of  the  boys  out  of  work?" 
Gregory  found  his  voice  at  last. 

Barnes  nodded. 

"Scads  of  'em.  Some  of  them  went  back  to  their 
old  jobs.  Some  of  them  found  'em  gone  and  they  was 
others  that  couldn't  cut  it  like  they  used  to.  The 
government's  tryin'  to  land  'em  all  jobs.  But  it's 
slow." 

Gregory  turned  slowly  about  and  retraced  his  steps 
in  the  direction  of  the  office.  Then  he  remembered 
Barnes's  request. 

"You  can  tell  your  friends  to  come  along,"  he  said. 

Barnes  ran  after  him. 

"Say,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  forgot  to  tell  you.  One  of 
'em's  leg's  a  little  stiff  and  the  other  one's  shy  an 
eye." 

Gregory  whirled  about. 

"They've  got  brains  and  hearts  left,  haven't  they?" 
he  challenged.  "Tell  them  to  come  along." 

Walking  rapidly  to  the  office  he  entered  and  closed 
the  door.  When  Barnes  came  in  at  quitting  time  the 
room  was  thick  with  smoke.  In  the  center  of  the 
smoke-screen  Gregory  sat  at  a  small  table,  hammering 
away  at  a  typewriter.  On  a  near-by  chair,  the  ex-sol 
dier  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  colored  poster,  glaringly 
captioned : 

JOBS  FOR  SOLDIERS 

Shutting  the  door  softly  behind  him  he  withdrew, 
smiling  to  himself. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    WAY    OF    THE    GULL 

DR-R-R-R-R-R-R-R. 

The  alarm-clock  announced  the  hour  imperi 
ously,  triumphantly,  the  importance  of  the  day  being 
manifest  in  its  resonant  warning. 

Kenneth  Gregory  leaped  from  his  bed  and  hastily 
donned  a  brand-new  suit  of  overalls.  A  young  man's 
first  business  engagement  was  not  lightly  to  be  passed 
over.  Particularly  when  it  promised  a  chance  for 
excitement  and  new  adventure.  He  dressed  quickly 
and  hurried  out  into  the  street.  With  difficulty  he 
stumbled  through  the  dark  streets  and  groped  his  way 
along  the  water-front  to  the  Lang  wharf.  All  about 
him  was  darkness,  opaque  and  impenetrable. 

"You're  early." 

Gregory  found  himself  blinking  into  the  white  light 
of  an  electric  torch.  By  his  side  stood  Dickie  Lang. 

"Yes,"  he  answered.  "Wasn't  sure  whether  my 
clock  was  right  so  I  set  it  half  an  hour  ahead." 

Still  holding  him  in  the  rays  of  the  light,  the  girl 
examined  him  critically. 

"All  right  but  your  shoes,"  she  announced. 
"You'll  break  your  neck  in  those  leather  soles.  I'll 
see  if  I  can  rustle  a  pair  of  tennis-shoes." 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  GULL  49 

She  vanished  suddenly  and  a  moment  later  he  saw 
her  light  fall  upon  the  burly  figures  of  three  bare- 
booted  fishermen  shuffling  along  the  dock.  She 
greeted  the  men  familiarly. 

"Got  that  coil  for  you,  Tom.  Cache  it  this  time 
where  those  thieving  devils  won't  beat  you  to  it.  Coils 
are  hard  to  get  right  now.  Bill,  you'd  better  run  down 
Lucas  way  and  scout  around  for  barracuda.  They 
were  beginning  to  hit  in  there  strong  this  time  last 
year.  How's  the  baby?  I  phoned  to  town  last  night 
for  that  medicine  I  told  you  about.  They  said  they'd 
shoot  it  out  on  the  first  mail." 

As  she  spoke  Gregory  saw  other  shadows  draw 
near  and  hover  for  a  moment  in  the  circle  of  light. 
From  the  hillside  above  the  town  lights  gleamed  from 
the  windows  of  the  fishing  colony,  the  intervening 
spaces  of  darkness  narrowing  second  by  second  until 
the  village  stood  out  like  a  great  checker-board  of 
lights  and  shadows.  Against  the  background  of  lights 
he  could  see  the  slender  figure  of  the  girl  passing 
among  the  huge  fishermen  who  towered  like  giants 
above  her.  Radiating  energy  wherever  she  went, 
criticizing  some,  commending  others  and  joking  away 
the  early-morning  grouch,  she  directed  the  move 
ments  of  the  constantly  increasing  stream  of  men  who 
thronged  the  dock  and  despatched  the  boats  one  by  one 
into  the  darkness. 

When  she  returned  to  Gregory's  side  for  a  moment 
she  held  in  her  hand  a  tattered  pair  of  rubber-soled 
shoes.  "They're  better  than  nothing,"  she  explained. 


50  EL  DIABLO 

"When  you  are  a  full-fledged  fisherman  you  won't 
need  shoes.  You'll  get  so  you  can  use  your  toes  like 
fingers  and — " 

The  rays  of  her  flash-light,  which  swept  the 
wharf  as  she  spoke,  suddenly  brought  into  view  the 
figure  of  a  man  lunging  unsteadily  along  the  dock. 
Leaving  her  sentence  unfinished,  she  was  by  his  side 
in  an  instant. 

"Nothing  doing,  Jack.  Go  home  and  go  to  bed, 
I  know  all  about  your  wife's  sick  aunt.  No  time  to 
listen  now.  If  you're  sober  by  afternoon  you  can  go 
out  with  the  boys  drifting." 

The  fisherman  started  to  expostulate  but  sherhad 
already  left  him.  Mumbling  that  she  didn't  know 
what  sickness  was,  he  stumbled  obediently  away  in  the 
direction  of  the  shore. 

"He's  been  drunk  since  Tuesday,"  she  announced' 
as  she  rejoined  Gregory.  "Too  bad,  too.  Best  man 
I've  got  in  shallow  water.  You  ought  to  see  him 
handle  a  dory  in  the  surf." 

Again  the  light  picked  out  a  newcomer  who  stood 
hesitating  a  few  feet  away.  "What's  the  trouble, 
Pete?  Why  aren't  you  on  the  job?" 

"I've  got  to  have  more  money."  The  words  were 
spoken  boldly  and  in  a  tone  which  drew  the  attention 
of  all  about.  A  number  of  fishermen  shuffled  nearer 
the  speaker  and  ranged  themselves  beyond  the  circle 
of  light  within  easy  hearing  distance. 

"You  want  more  money,"  Dickie  Lang  repeated 
slowly.  "Well  about  the  only  reason  I  could  ever 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  GULL  51 

think  of  for  paying  you  any  more  would  be  for  your 
nerve  in  asking  for  it.  Why,  I've  lost  more  through 
your  carelessness  since  you've  been  on  the  job  than  I 
could  make  on  you  in  six  months.  The  first  shot  out 
of  the  box  you  let  a  piece  of  barracuda-webbing  go 
adrift  and  Mascola's  gang  picked  it  up  right  before 
your  eyes  and  you  never  cheeped.  Then  you  put  one 
of  my  motors  on  the  blink  because  you  were  too  lazy 
to  watch  the  oil-feed.  Where  do  you  think  I  get  off? 
How  long  could  I  run  this  outfit  if  all  my  men  were 
like  you  ?  Take  a  brace  and  come  alive,  Pete.  That's 
the  way  to  get  more  money  out  of  me  or  any  one  else. 
The  harder  you  hit  the  ball  the  more  you'll  get.  I 
don't  want  to  hog  it  all.  The  boys  will  tell  you  I  shoot 
square." 

The  fisherman  slunk  sullenly  away  and  joined  his 
companions.  Dickie  Lang  turned  again  to  Gregory. 

"That's  one  of  the  things  I'm  up  against/'  she 
exclaimed  in  a  low  voice.  "That  fellow  is  a  regular 
agitator.  Talking  is  his  long  suit.  Why,  he  didn't 
even  know  how  to  throw  a  bowline  when  he  hit  in 
here,  flat  broke  and  down  on  his  uppers.  I've  taught 
him  all  he  knows.  And  now  he's  trying  to  start  some 
thing.  If  men  weren't  so  scarce  I'd  can  him  in  a 
minute." 

Gregory  watched  the  fleet  embark,  marveling  at 
the  manner  in  which  the  burly  fishermen  took  orders 
from  a  mere  slip  of  a  girl.  How  it  must  go  against 
their  grain,  he  thought,  to  be  bossed  about  by  a  woman. 


52  EL  DIABLO 

The  last  of  the  boats  had  cleared  before  the  youthful 
commodore  prepared  to  follow. 

"Let's  go,"  she  exclaimed  impatiently.  "We're 
late  now.  Mascola's  outfit  cleared  two  hours  ago." 

Leading  the  way  she  took  Gregory  aboard  a  small 
fishing  vessel  which  waited  at  the  float  below.  The 
motor  started  the  instant  their  feet  touched  the  deck 
and  a  gruff  voice  growled : 

"We've  got  to  go  some  to  make  the  point  by  day 
break." 

The  girl  nodded  to  the  dark  form  at  the  wheel. 

"You  said  it,  Tom.  Mascola's  gang  are  mighty 
near  down  there  by  now." 

She  cast  off  the  lines  and  jumped  again  to  the  boat 
.as  the  little  craft  backed  from  the  slip  and  headed 
clown  the  bay.  While  the  boat  gained  headway  under 
the  rapid  pulse  of  the  powerful  motor,  she  explained : 

"Got  a  string  of  nets  off  Long  Point.  Just  put 
them  out  yesterday.  But  I've  a  pretty  good  idea  we'll 
load  up.  That  is  unless  Mascola  tries  to  sew  us  up. 
One  of  his  fishing  captains  was  cruising  round  last 
night  when  I  left  the  set." 

"But  if  you  had  your  nets  out  first,"  Gregory 
began. 

A  low  laugh  from  the  girl  interrupted  him.  "You 
don't  know  how  Mascola  does  business,"  she  said. 
"Listen,  I'll  tell  you.  Did  you  ever  notice  them  throw 
garbage  overboard  from  the  deck  of  a  steamer  and 
see  one  lone  gull  flying  in  her  wake?  The  minute  he 
squawks  and  swoops  down  to  pick  it  up  there's  a  hun- 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  GULL  53 

dred  of  them  come  from  all  points  of  the  compass  to 
fight  it  out  with  him  for  the  spoils.  Well,  Mascola's 
men  are  just  like  that.  We  may  spot  the  fish  first.  We 
generally  do.  But  that  doesn't  make  the  slightest  bit 
of  difference  to  Mascola.  It  only  saves  him  the  trou 
ble.  When  our  nets  are  out  and  he  sees  we're  getting 
a  good  haul,  he  lays  around  us  and  cuts  us  off.  Do 
you  get  the  idea?" 

Gregory  nodded  vaguely. 

"But  can't  you  do  something?"  he  asked.  "I 
should  think " 

Again  the  girl  laughed.  "You  bet  I  can  do  some 
thing,"  she  snapped.  "You  just  watch  me.  That's 
what  I  brought  you  out  here  for  this  morning.  If 
those  devils  try  to  lay  around  me,  I'll  show  them  a 
thing  or  two.  I  wish  we  had  an  earlier  start  though," 
she  concluded.  "They've  got  the  best  of  it  by  a  couple 
of  hours." 

Through  the  darkness  they  raced  to  the  open  sea. 
The  cool  morning  breeze  blew  briskly  in  their  faces 
and  Gregory  noticed  they  were  overhauling  a  few  of 
the  stragglers. 

"It  oughtn't  to  take  you  long  to  catch  up  with  them 
at  this  clip,"  he  said  admiringly.  "Are  all  of  your 
boats  as  fast  as  this  one?" 

"If  they  were  it  would  break  me  up,"  the  girl 
answered.  "The  Petrel's  my  flag  ship.  She's  a  gas- 
hog,  but  she  can  travel.  She  has  fifty  horse,  and 
built  on  the  lines  she  is,  there  aren't  many  of  them 
around  here  that  can  make  her  run  in  their  wake. 


54  EL  DIABLO 

Only  two  in  fact,"  she  added.     "Mascola's  speed-boat 
and  Rossi's  fleet-tender." 

"Who  is  Rossi?" 

"Mascola's  fishing  captain.  Next  to  his  boss  and 
old  Rock,  one  of  the  biggest  crooks  in  town.  He 
knows  his  business  though,"  she  supplemented  half- 
admiringly,  "and  is  a  good  man  for  Mascola." 

"Who's  Rock?"  asked  Gregory. 

The  girl  faced  about  suddenly. 

"Rock's  the  big  man  of  a  little  town.  He's  in 
everything.  The  further  you  go  without  meeting  with 
him  the  better  off  you'll  be.  He's  president  of  the 
bank,  the  Rock  Commercial  Company  and  several 
other  concerns.  He  owns  the  controlling  interest  in 
the  Golden  Rule  Cannery  besides.  He  has  a  finger  in 
everything.  He's  a  mighty  busy  man.  Bat  he's  never 
too  busy  to  meddle  with  other  people's  business.  At 
least  he  tried  to  in  mine." 

Her  teeth  snapped  in  a  vicious  click. 

A  number  of  questions  crowded  to  Gregory's 
mind,  as  they  crossed  the  jettied  inlet  and  headed  down 
the  coast.  He  asked  them  in  rapid-fire  order. 

"How  many  boats  have  you? 

"Twenty-five.     Using  sixteen  to-day." 

"Why  don't  you  run  them  all  ?" 

"Can't  get  the  men.  That  is,  good  ones.  I'm 
hiring  and  firing  all  the  time.  Paying  thirty-eight 
now  and  that  leaves  me  short-handed  even  with  the 
boats  I'm  working." 

"How  many  boats  has  Mascola?" 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  GULL  55 

The  girl  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  she 
answered : 

"Can't  say.  Somewhere  about  fifty,  maybe  more. 
It's  hard  to  check  him  up.  His  boats  cruise  a  long  way 
out  and- some  of  them  don't  put  in  to  Legonia  at  all." 

"What  kind  of  fish  are  you  catching  now?" 

"Halibut  mostly,  some  barracuda.  Haven't  tried 
for  sardines  or  albacore  since  your  cannery  shut 
down." 

The  Petrel  rolled  lazily  in  the  trough  of  the  swell 
as  she  sped  down  the  coast.  Suddenly  the  darkness 
ahead  was  blurred  by  an  indistinct  shape  and  the  man 
at  the  wheel  put  the  vessel  over  sharply.  As  he  did  so 
he  narrowly  escaped  a  collision  with  an  unlighted  boat 
which  loomed  directly  across  their  bow. 

"Trawler  fishing  within  the  three-mile  limit  with 
out  lights,"  the  girl  explained  to  her  passenger. 

Gregory  remembered  Dickie  Lang's  words  concern 
ing  alien  interference.  He  knew  that  running  without 
lights  was  illegal.  Why  was  the  law  not  enforced? 

In  answer  to  his  question,  the  girl  burst  out :  "You 
just  wait.  I  couldn't  take  the  time  now  to  tell  you  of 
all  the  laws  Mascola  breaks  and  if  I  did  you  wouldn't 
believe  me." 

"How  can  he  get  by  with  it?"  Gregory  asked. 

Dickie  Lang  walked  to  the  rail  and  searched  the 
dark  water  in  the  direction  of  the  shore  before  she 
replied :  "There  are  three  different  kinds  of  laws  out 
here.  The  navigation  laws  are  made  by  the  govern 
ment,  the  fishing  laws  by  the  state,  and  the  law  of  the 


56  EL  DIABLO 

sea  is  made  by  the  fishermen.  If  you  break  the  pilot- 
rules  they'll  haul  you  up  before  the  local  inspector  at 
Port  Angeles  and  fine  you,  take  away  your  license  or 
put  you  in  jail.  But  they've  got  to  have  the  proof  and 
that  is  hard  to  get.  If  you  break  the  state's  laws  you 
run  up  against  the  fish  commissioner.  His  deputies 
do  their  best  to  protect  the  fish  and  see  that  the  fisher 
men  use  the  right  kind  of  gear.  If  they  catch  an  outfit 
with  the  goods,  they  put  them  over.  But  it's  hard  to 
do." 

She  stared  away  into  the  faintly  graying  darkness, 
"Cut  through  the  kelp,  Tom.    It  will  save  us  a  little 
and  we're  going  to  need  it." 

"And  the  fisherman's  law  you  spoke  about.  What 
is  that?"  Gregory  queried. 

She  faced  him  suddenly.  "I  don't  know  how  to 
explain  it,"  she  said.  "Every  one  has  to  learn  it  for 
himself.  It's  the  law  of  the  biggest  and  fastest  boat. 
The  law  of  the  longest  and  strongest  arm.  The  law  of 
sand  and  a  quick  trigger." 

Gregory  felt  his  pulse  quicken  as  she  went  on  : 
"You  see  we  have  to  depend  on  ourselves  out  here 
to  settle  our  troubles.  Whatever  happens,  happens 
quick.  Generally  there  are  not  many  witnesses.  If 
you  knew  trouble  was  coming,  you  might  get  a  deputy 
to  come  out,  but  the  chances  are  ten  to  one  they 
wouldn't.  They  would  say  it  was  only  a  fisherman's 
row  and  tell  you  to  swear  out  a  warrant.  And  if  you 
go  to  law,  Mascola  will  bring  five  witnesses  for  each 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  GULL  57 

of  yours  and  they'll  outswear  you  every  time  for  they 
can  lie  faster  than  a  man  can  write  it  down." 

Again  she  paused  and  searched  the  gray  border  of 
the  receding  curtain  of  night.  Far  away  Gregory 
could  hear  the  roar  of  the  breakers.  From  out  the  gray 
dusk  ahead  appeared  the  shadowy  outline  of  a  rugged 
promontory  jutting  far  out  into  the  sea. 

"Keep  close  in,  Tom.  Our  last  string's  dead  ahead, 
off  Feeble  Beach.  When  you  get  around  the  point 
swing  on  the  outside  of  Coward  Rocks  and  give  her  all 
she'll  stand." 

She  walked  slowly  about  the  deck  with  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  wave-washed  shore-line. 

"So  you  see  each  outfit  makes  its  own  laws  and 
it's  up  to  them  to  enforce  them.  Our  law  is  to  mind 
our  own  business  and  get  the  fish.  The  only  law  we 
break  is  Mascola's.  He  tries  to  tell  us  where  to  fish. 
He  bullies  the  ones  he  can  and  fights  the  ones  he  can't 
in  any  way  that  is  easiest  and  safest.  He's  a  thief  and 
a  crook  and  he'd  commit  murder  in  a  minute  if  he 
thought  he  could  get  by  with  it." 

The  idea  lodged  in  her  brain.  She  leaned  closer 
and  exclaimed  in  a  low  voice :  "And  how  do  we  know 
he  doesn't  get  by  with  murder  the  way  he  does  with 
everything  else  ?  There's  many  a  man  picked  up  along 
the  coast  as  a  *  floater'  that  nobody  knows  how  he 
drowned." 

Daybreak  was  upon  them  as  they  hugged  the  shore 
line  and  slipped  into  the  protecting  shadow  of  Long1 
Point.  Dickie  Lang's  words  sank  deep  into  Gregory's 


58  EL  DIABLO 

consciousness.  A  half-formed  question  found  its  way 
at  last  to  his  lips. 

"Do  you  think,"  he  began,  but  was  interrupted  by 
the  man  at  the  wheel. 

"Can't  make  the  inside  channel.  Have  to  go 
round." 

He  altered  the  helm  as  he  spoke.  Dickie  Lang 
jumped  to  his  side. 

"We've  got  to  run  the  short-cut,  Tom.  No  use 
going  round.  They'd  spot  us  a  mile  away  in  this 
light.  If  they're  laying  round  my  nets  I  want  to 
surprise  them.  I'll  take  the  boat." 

The  fisherman  surrendered  the  wheel  and  sidled 
out  of  the  way. 

"She's  your  boat,"  he  said  with  blunt  emphasis. 
"But  don't  forget  it's  my  license.  I  wouldn't  take  the 
chance." 

The  girl  nodded.  "My  license  is  hanging  up  in 
the  engine-room,"  she  retorted.  "If  anything  happens, 
it's  me  that  is  responsible.  I  won't  forget." 

She  spun  the  wheel  over  as  she  spoke  and  the 
Petrel  swerved  like  a  gull  and  headed  straight  for, the 
rugged  cliff  which  towered  high  above  the  foaming 
water,  bold  and  defiant  of  the  angry  waves  which 
dashed  relentlessly  at  its  base. 

Off  the  port  bow  Gregory  saw  a  narrow  pathway 
of  quiet  water  fringed  on  one  si'de  by  white-toothed 
swells,  on  the  other  by  the  barnacled  feet  of  the  point 
itself.  He  leaned  over  the  rail  and  followed  the  course 
of  the  ribbon-like  path  which  wound  like  a  snake 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  GULL  59 

among  the  curling  waves  and  jagged  rocks.  Could 
that  be  the  channel  the  girl  meant  to  take  ? ' 

Dickie  Lang's  eyes  were  fixed  writh  his  upon  the 
devious  waterway.  The  hand  which  held  the  wheel 
was  steady  and  the  Petrel  plunged  boldly  on  as  if  bent 
upon  flinging  its  fragile  shell  upon  the  time-defying 
rocks  of  Long  Point. 

Gregory  measured  the  distance  to  the  overhanging 
ledge.  What  was  the  use  of  taking  such  a  chance  as 
this?  It  looked  like  one  in  a  million.  In  another 
minute  they  would  pile  up.  They  were  almost  abreast 
of  the  thread-like  channel  when  he  saw  the  fingers  on 
the  wheel  tighten.  The  steering  gear  whirred  and  the 
Petrel  leaped  forward  to  answer  the  master-hand  at 
the  helm. 

Then  came  the  miracle. 

The  slim  bow  of  the  little  craft  swung  about.  For 
a  second  she  wallowed  in  the  trough  of  the  ground- 
swell,  rose  high  on  its  foaming  crest  and  nestled  slowly 
down  in  the  quiet  water  of  the  rock-bound  channel. 
And  the  distance  to  safety  had  been  gained  by  the 
scant  margin  of  only  a  few  inches.  A  sharper  or 
blunter  turn  would  have  ripped  the  vessel  from  bow  to 
stern.  Was  it  luck?  He  shook  his  head  slowly.  Then 
he  began  to  understand  why  the  fishermen  took  orders 
from  Dickie  Lang.  He  was  recalled  to  himself  by  a 
laughing  voice  and  he  saw  that  the  girl's  eyes  were 
sparkling,  as  she  said  without  turning  her  head : 

"Did  you  think  you  were  going  to  have  to  swim 
ashore?" 


6o  EL  DIABLO 

Gregory  laughed.  "I  could  feel  the  water  about 
my  ears/'  he  said.  Then  he  added :  "Do  you  do  stunts 
like  that  often?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "Sometimes  it  is  necessary 
to  take  a  chance/'  she  answered.  "You've  got  to 
catch  Mascola's  bunch  red-handed.  When  we  round 
the  'bull-nose'  we'll  be  right  on  top  of  our  nets." 

Her  lips  were  firmly  compressed  and  the  little  lines 
which  suddenly  appeared  about  her  mouth  were  hard. 
With  her  eyes  still  held  by  the  barnacled  rocks,  she 
snapped :  "Then  you  may  see  something." 

They  were  nearing  the  end  of  Long  Point. 
Throttling  the  throbbing  motor  until  its  soft  breathing 
could  be  heard  only  a  few  boat-lengths,  she  nodded  to 
the  fisherman : 

"All  right,  Tom.  She's  yours.  Plenty  of  water 
from  here  on.  When  you  round  'bull-nose'  head  for 
the  cove  with  all  you've  got." 

Relieved  from  the  wheel  she  dodged  into  the 
engine-room  and  returned  with  two  rifles.  Flashing 
a  glance  shoreward  to  determine  the  Petrel's  position 
she  rejoined  Gregory  and  handed  him  one  of  the  guns. 
Gregory  reached  eagerly  for  the  weapon.  For  the 
past  hour  he  had  been  forced  to  ,sit  by  a  spectator. 
Now  was  a  chance  to  do  something.  To  play  a  game 
he  knew.  His  fingers  caressed  the  stock  of  the  Win 
chester  as  the  girl  exclaimed : 

"Don't  suppose  there  is  any  use  telling  you  how  to 
shoot.  Only  at  sea  things  are  a  little  different.  You 
have  to  count  on  the  roll.  Sight  full  until  you  get  on 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  GULL  6l 

the  range.  Distances  are  deceiving  on  the  water.  Pull 
on  the  slow  rise  if  you  can.  That's  when  she's 
steadiest." 

He  noted  her  quiet  manner  of  speaking  and  the 
businesslike  way  with  which  she  handled  her  gun. 
What  she  meant  for  him  to  do  he  did  not  clearly  under 
stand.  Whatever  it  was,  she  would  find  him  ready. 
He  slipped  a  shell  into  the  barrel  from  the  magazine, 
and  waited.  He  noticed  that  the  girl  was  watching 
him  closely  as  they  came  to  the  end  of  the  winding 
channel.  Then  she  gave  him  brief  instructions. 

"When  we  pass  that  big  rock  ahead  we'll  head  in. 
Then  you  will  see  a  string  of  nets.  You  may  see  two 
strings,  one  laid  around  the  other.  If  any  of  Mascola's 
gang  are  hanging  around  I'm  going  to  try  to  per 
suade  them  to  give  me  sea-way." 

She  set  her  lips  grimly  and  tapped  the  rifle.  Draw-* 
ing  a  pair  of  binocular-glasses  from  her  pocket  she 
focused  them  carefully. 

"Don't  shoot  until  I  do.  If  they  are  trying  to  lay 
around  I'll  open  up  on  them  and  start  them  moving. 
Aim  at  the  water-line  and  pump  away  as  fast  as  you 
like.  All  right,  Tom.  Give  her  the  gun." 

The  Petrel  leaped  under  the  advancing  throttle 
and  raced  for  the  curiously  fashioned  nub  at  the  cliff's 
end. 

Gregory  crowded  forward,  striving  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  water  beyond.  As  they  flashed  by  the 
"bull-nose"  she  saw  silhouetted  against  the  brightening 
light  which  streamed  across  the  water  from  the  beach,. 


62  EL  DIABLO 

the  sharp  outline  of  a  fishing-boat.  Then  he  heard  a 
low  exclamation  from  the  girl. 

"He's  laid  around  my  string,"  she  gritted,  and 
again  the  glasses  flashed  to  her  eyes.  She  whirled  on 
the  fisherman.  "Look  at  that,  Tom!  He's  stripping 
my  nets.  I've  got  him  with  the  goods  this  time  and, 
so  help  me  God,  I'm  going  to  make  him  pay.  Don't 
shoot,"  she  cautioned  Gregory.  "Wait  till  we  get 
closer.  I  want  to  get  him  with  the  deadwood.  Wide 
open,  Tom,  we'll  run  him  off  his  legs.  I'll " 

A  puff  of  white  smoke  drifted  upward  from  the 
deck  of  the  launch  ahead  and  floated  lazily  above  the 
rigging.  Some  fifty  feet  beyond  the  port  bow  of  the 
Petrel  the  water  leaped  upward  in  a  tiny  spout 
Dickie's  rifle  sounded  in  Gregory's  ear  and  the  report 
of  his  own  prolonged  the  echoes.  As  he  pumped  in 
another  cartridge  he  noted  that  the  girl's  eyes  were 
shining  and  her  red  lips  were  parted  in  a  smile. 
Between  shots  he  heard  her  mutter : 

"Can  you  beat  that?  The  dirty  robbers  are  going 
to  stay  and  fight?" 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  LAW  OF  THE   FISHERMEN 

TIER  DECKS  spouting  flame,  the  Petrel  raced  on 
to  meet  the  enemy.  Gregory  crowded  close  to 
the  rail  and  dropped  to  his  knee.  The  girl  was  right 
about  the  roll.  He  shoved  the  rifle  through  a  cross- 
stay,  sighted  carefully  and  pulled  the  trigger. 

"I  have  the  system  now,"  he  called. 

She  nodded.  'That's  the  stuff.  Aim  for  the 
engine-house.  They're  shooting  from  the  ports." 

The  bullets  from  the  alien  craft  were  flying  wide. 
The  fusillade  from  the  Petrel  was  evidently  interfering 
with  the  enemy's  marksmanship. 

"No  expert  riflemen  there,"  Gregory  commented. 

Dickie  shook  her  head.  "A  knife's  their  long1 
suit,"  she  answered.  "I  never  saw  them  shoot  much 
before.  Don't  believe  they " 

A  jingle  of  breaking  glass  interrupted  her  and  the 
starboard  side-lamp  toppled  from  the  bracket  and 
crashed  to  the  deck. 

"Get  down,"  Gregory  commanded.  "They're 
getting  the  range." 

The  girl  smiled  and  wiped  away  the  blood  which 
spurted  from  a  small  cut  in  her  cheek.  "Just  fool 

63 


64  EL  DIABLO 

luck/'  she  answered,  leaning  coolly  against  the  stays 
and  reloading  her  rifle.  "That  was  only  an  accident." 

Gregory  was  by  her  side  in  an  instant.  Grasping 
her  roughly  by  the  arm  he  said  harshly :  "Get  down, 
I  tell  you." 

She  jerked  away  her  arm  and  started  to  speak. 
Then  she  dropped  to  the  deck. 

"Maybe  you're  right  at  that/'  she  admitted,  a  smile 
playing  about  her  lips. 

The  firing  became  brisker  as  the  distance  lessened 
between  the  two  boats,  while  the  enemy  bullets  became 
wilder  and  more  desultory.  Dickie  ceased  firing  and 
turned  to  the  man  at  the  wheel. 

"It's  Rossi  with  the  Roma.  He's  getting  under 
way." 

She  flung  out  an  arm  pointing  in  the  direction  of 
the  stubby-nosed  point  which  lay  across  the  little  bay. 
"Head  for  the  arch,  Tom.  We'll  cut  him  off." 
Pointing  to  the  fleeing  boat  she  explained  to  Gregory : 
"He's  almost  in  shoal  water  right  now.  To  get  out 
he's  got  to  follow  the  channel.  It's  dead  low  tide  and 
he'll  have  to  make  a  big  bend  to  get  out.  We'll  cut 
across  and  head  him  off.  He  has  the  speed  of  us  and 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  lead.  But  he  has  farther  to  go. 
If  he  opens  up  he's  liable  to  pile  up  on  the  rocks.  It's 
about  an  even  bet  he'll  make  it  for  he's  clever.  But  if 
he  does  we'll  be  right  on  top  of  him  when  he  comes 
out.  Then  I'll  teach  him  a  lesson  he  won't  forget  in  a 
hurry." 

The  Petrel  altered  her  course  while  she  was  speak- 


'Aim  for  the  engine-house!" 


THE  LAW  OF  THE  FISHERMEN         65 

ing  and  sped  off  at  a  tangent.  The  Roma,  dashing 
shoreward,  turned  and  angled  sharply,  running  par 
allel  to  her  pursuer. 

"He's  sure  pounding  her,"  the  girl  observed  as  she 
noted  the  increasing  distance  which  separated  the  two 
boats.  "If  he  holds  that  clip  when  he  comes  to  that 
figure  S  channel,  he'll  never  make  the  turns."  She 
shut  her  jaw  tighter.  "Cut  in  a  little  closer,  Tom,"  she 
ordered.  "We'll  make  him  take  all  the  chances  there 
are." 

Gregory  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  engine-house 
and  watched  the  Roma  dodging  among  the  rocks  like 
a  frightened  rabbit.  Dickie  Lang  was  poised  in  the 
bow  like  a  figurehead,  one  foot  resting  on  the  rail. 
Her  hair,  jerked  from  her  cap  by  the  fingers  of  the 
dawn-wind,  streamed  out  behind  her  in  a  shower  of 
dull  red  gold.  Her  eyes  were  shining  with  the  joy  of 
the  chase. 

"He's  almost  at  the  turn,"  she  called  back.  "He'll 
never  make  it  on  an  outgoing  tide.  He's  got  to  slow 
up.  If  he  does,  we've  got  him.  If  he  doesn't " 

She  was  interrupted  by  a  muffled  exclamation  from 
the  man  at  the  wheel.  The  Roma's  bow  was  rising 
from  the  water.  For  an  instant  she  planed  like  a  high- 
powered  racing-boat.  Then,  as  if  exhausted  by  the 
chase,  she  settled  slowly  to  rest  in  the  white  water, 
her  masts  angling  sharply  toward  the  beach. 

"High  and  diy  on  mussel  rocks,"  Dickie  Lang 
announced.  "It's  a  flood  tide  to-day  and  with  the  big 
ground  swell  she  hasn't  a  chance." 


66  EL  DIABLO 

As  they  neared  the  wreck  they  saw  the  crew  of  the 
stranded  vessel  huddled  together  on  the  sloping  deck. 

"Don't  go  in  any  closer,  Tom,"  cautioned  the  girl. 
"The  tide's  turning.  They  can  wade  ashore  and  watch 
her  break  up." 

As  they  circled  closer  to  make  the  turn,  Gregory 
noticed  a  red-shirted  giant  leap  from  the  wreck  of  the 
fishing-boat  into  the  shallow  water,  waving  his  arms 
wildly  about  his  head.  But  the  noise  of  the  Petrel's 
motor  drowned  the  voice  of  the  infuriated  fishing 
captain  and  his  threats  and  curses  were  heard  only  by 
his  own  crew. 

"It  isn't  Rossi,  after  all,"    Dickie  observed  as  she 
caught  sight  of  the  red-shirted  figure.     "It's  Boris, 
the  crazy  Russian.    I  never  knew  Mascola  to  trust  him 
,  with  a  boat  like  the  Roma  before." 

The  Petrel  turned  about  and,  burying  her  nose  in 
the  big  swells,  made  haste  to  leave  the  dangerous 
water. 

"Head  for  the  nets,"  the  girl  ordered.  "I'm  not 
through  with  Mascola  yet.  He  has  my  fish  on  the 
'Roma.  If  I  had  a  dory  I'd  go  in  there  and  get  them. 
But  it  isn't  good  enough  to  risk  the  Petrel" 

As  they  came  nearer  the  two  strings  of  nets,  Dickie 
explained:  "I'm  going  to  work  the  same  game  on 
Mascola  that  the  fish  commissioner  does  when  he 
catches  them  trawling  within  the  three-mile  limit.  I'm 
going  to  salvage  his  nets  and  make  him  pay  for  his 
crooked  work  to  get  his  property.  Lay  to,  Tom, 
and  we'll  pull  them  aboard  with  mine." 


THE  LAW  OF  THE  FISHERMEN         67 

The  fisherman  drew  alongside  the  row  of  bobbing 
corks  with  a  grim  smile  playing  about  his  lips. 

"Have  to  rustle/'  he  observed.  "You  know  how 
Mascola's  boats  follow  up." 

The  girl  tossed  her  head. 

"I  don't  care  if  his  whole  fleet  comes  along.  And 
him  with  them.  I'm  going  to  make  him  pay  me  for 
those  fish  Boris  stole  from  my  nets.  I  can't  take  it 
into  court  but " 

She  paused  in  the  middle  of  her  sentence  as  her 
eyes  swept  the  sea.  Focusing  the  binoculars  on  a 
small  speak  on  the  horizon,  she  announced :  "Here 
comes  Mascola  now  in  his  speed-boat.  We'll  haul 
them  aboard,  boys.  Then  I'll  talk  business  with  the 
dago.  Get  his  nets  first." 

Falling  to  eagerly,  Gregory  received  his  first  lesson 
in  pulling  the  nets.  With  straining  back  and  smarting 
fingers  he  worked  by  the  fisherman's  side  hauling  the 
heavy  webbing  to  the  deck.  As  they  reached  the 
middle  of  the  string  the  weight  of  the  sagging  nets 
increased  and  a  number  of  glistening  barracuda 
floundered  from  the  water,  gilled  by  the  strong  mesh. 
The  girl  observed  the  fish  with  darkening  brow. 

"The  dirty  robbers,"  she  exclaimed  wrathfully. 
"Look  what  they  have  already.  I'll  bet  I'd  have  had  a 
good  haul  if  they  had  let  me  alone." 

Gregory  noticed  as  he  straightened  up  that  the 
distant  speck  on  the  water  was  fast  assuming  the  pro 
portions  of  a  motor-launch.  He  noticed  too  that  the 
approaching  craft  was  coming  at  a  high  rate  of  speed 


68  EL  DIABLO 

and  was  swerving  shoreward.  Tugging  harder  at 
the  nets,  he  worked  doggedly  on,  listening  to  the 
staccato  bark  of  the  speed-craft  as  Mascola  drew  close. 
They  were  hauling  at  the  last  string  when  he  came 
within  hailing  distance. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  called.  "You're  pulling 
my  nets." 

"Don't  pay  any  attention  to  him,"  admonished 
Dickie  Lang.  "I'm  not  going  to  hollow  my  head  off. 
Keep  working  and  wait  until  he  comes  alongside." 

With  his  motor  purring  like  an  angry  cat,  Mascola 
whirled  his  craft  about  in  a  wave-washed  circle  and 
drew  abreast  of  the  Petrel.  At  the  same  instant 
Gregory  and  the  fisherman  lifted  the  last  piece  of  the 
Italian's  nets  to  the  deck.  Gregory  straightened  his 
aching  back  and  looked  toward  the  early  morning 
visitor,  but  his  eyes  did  not  get  as  far  as  Mascola. 
They  remained  riveted  on  the  launch. 

Never  had  he  seen  such  a  boat.  She  poised  on  the 
waves  like  a  gull,  quivering  with  potential  energy, 
ready  for  instant  flight.  From  her  sharply  V-ed  bow 
to  her  delicately  molded  stern,  every  line  of  the  trim 
craft  spoke  eloquently  of  the  plan  of  a  master-designer 
who  fashioned  her  with  a  single  purpose — speed. 

"What's  the  matter  I  say?  You're  pulling  my 
nets." 

Gregory  freed  his  eyes  with  an  effort  from  the 
launch  to  survey  its  owner.  Mascola  turned  angrily  on 
the  leather  cushion  and  glared  at  the  Petrel's  deck. 

Dickie  Lang  walked  coolly  to  the  rail.     "Sure  I'm 


THE  LAW  OF  THE  FISHERMEN         69 

pulling  your  nets,"  she  said.  "I've  got  them  all 
aboard.  And  that's  where  they're  going  to  stay  until 
you  pay  me  for  the  fish  your  outfit  took  from  my 
nets."  ' 

"I  never  take  your  fish.     I  don't  know " 

"Oh,  yes  you  do,  Mascola.  Boris  laid  around  me 
and  robbed  my  nets.  There's  my  webbing  lying  right 
where  I  put  it  out.  I  caught  that  crazy  Russian  of 
yours  with  the  goods  and  he  lost  his  head  and  your 
boat.  He's  piled  up  over  there  on  the  beach." 

Mascola  rose  hastily  and  followed  the  direction  of 
her  arm.  In  his  anger  at  beholding  Dickie  taking  his 
nets  from  the  water  he  had  not  noticed  the  wreck  of 
the  Roma.  A  torrent  of  Italian  words  burst  from  his 
li'ps.  His  cheeks  purpled  and  his  eyes  grew  hot  with 
passion.  When  he  controlled  himself  to  speak  in 
English  he  cried : 

"I'll  have  you  arrested  for  stealing  my  nets.  I'll 
get  a  warrant  and  search  your  wharf  and  your  house." 

"But  you  won't  find  your  nets."  Dickie  Lang 
supplied  the  words  and  went  on :  "Listen,  you  crook, 
if  you  and  I  don't  settle  this  thing  up  right  now  you 
won't  find  a  piece  of  your  nets  big  enough  to  swear 
what  it  is.  I'm  not  trying  to  rob  you  like  you  robbed 
me.  I  just  want  what's  coming  to  me.  Not  a  cent 
more.  If  you  give  me  that  I'll  throw  your  webbing 
over.  If  you  don't  I'll  trail  them  even-  inch  of  the 
way  to  Legonia  and  cut  them  into  ribbons  with  the 
propeller.  It's  up  to  you,  Mascola." 

The  Italian  flashed  a  glance  to  the  cove  where  the 


70  EL  DIABLO 

Roma's  angling  mast  appeared  against  the  beach. 
Then  he  looked  out  to  sea  and  his  eyes  brightened  as 
the  mast  of  a  fishing-boat  rounded  the  point  and 
turned  shoreward.  It  was  Ankovitch  with  the  Lura. 

His  launch  rode  high  on  a  capping  swell  and  a 
puff  of  wind  caused  him  to  look  anxiously  at  the 
beach.  The  tide  was  beginning  to  set  in  strong  and 
the  breeze  was  freshening.  He  snapped  out  his  watch 
and  scowled.  Whatever  was  done  for  the  Roma  must 
be  done  at  once. 

"What  do  you  want  ?"  he  flashed. 

"Pay  for  the  fish  you  stole  from  my  nets.  From 
what  I  saw  in  your  nets  I  figure  I  had  all  of  a  ton." 
She  glanced  at  the  fish  lying  on  the  deck.  "You've 
got  about  five  hundred  here.  I'll  allow  you  for  that. 
You  pay  me  the  difference  at  three  cents.  That  will 
be  forty-five  dollars." 

Mascola  glared.  His  hand  crept  slowly  to  his 
pocket. 

"None  of  that." 

The  girl's  words  cut  like  a  knife.  The  hand  which 
lay  in  her  pocket  turned  and  the  coat  bulged  outward. 

"I  was  getting  my  money,"  Mascola  growled. 

"All  right.  Face  about  the  other  way  when  you 
get  it." 

As  the  Italian  turned,  Dickie  Lang  caught  up  a 
rifle  and  threw  it  loosely  over  her  shoulder.  Mascola 
turned  to  look  straight  into  the  muzzle  and  drew  back 
sharply.  Then  he  flourished  a  roll  of  bills. 


THE  LAW  OF  THE  FISHERMEN          71 

"Quick,"  h^  said.  "You  have  me  at  a  disadvan 
tage  this  time.  I  will  pay.  Here  is  the  money." 

He  tossed  the  bills  to  the  deck. 

"All  right,  Mascola.  That  squares  us  for  to-day. 
I'll  dump  your  nets  over  right  where  they  are  as 
soon  as  I  check  up  the  money.  And  the  next  time  you 
try  to  lay  around  me  I'm  going  to  run  through  your 
nets  and  cut  them  to  pieces." 

Mascola  dropped  to  the  cushioned  seat  and  whirled 
half  about. 

"I  will  not  forget,"  he  said.  "To-day  you  win. 
Next  time " 

His  words  were  lost  in  the  roar  of  his  motor.  The 
speed-boat  shot  forward  like  a  horse  at  the  touch  of  a 
spur.  In  a  whirl  of  white  water  Mascola  sped  away 
for  the  beach. 


% 


CHAPTER  VII 
YOU'LL  HAVE  TO  SHOW  ME 

HPHE  sky  was  reddening  in  the  east  when  the  last 
of  the  nets  were  pulled  aboard.  Rounding  Long 
Point,  the  Petrel  took  up  the  homeward  track  as  the  sun 
peeped  over  the  low  brown  hills  and  caressed  the  sea. 
Dickie  Lang  looked  back  at  the  wreck  of  the  Roma 
and  the  light  of  victory  died  slowly  from  her  eyes. 

"Fm  not  sorry  for  Mascola,"  she  exclaimed.  "He 
got  only  what  was  coming  to  him.  But  I  am  sorry  for 
the  little  boat.  She  was  a  good  little  scout  and  she 
was  game  to  the  end.  You'll  find  that  boats  are  a 
good  deal  like  people,"  she  went  on,  "when  you  know 
them  as  well  as  I  do.  Some  of  them  are  cranky  and 
have  to  be  coaxed  along.  Others  are  just  plain  lazy 
and  must  be  pounded  on  the  back.  And  there  are 
some  that  are  treacherous  and  the  minute  they  get 
you  in  a  tight  place,  they  will  lay  down  cold." 

Her  last  words  gave  her  the  cue  to  continue : 
"And  the  ocean  is  full  of  tight  places.  Mascola  found 
himself  in  one  this  morning.  He  had  the  sense  to 
realize  it  and  act  before  it  was  too  late.  It  went 
against  his  grain  to  be  beaten  by  a  girl.  But  by  cashing 
in  when  he  did,  he  saved  a  boat  perhaps.  So  he  put 

72 


YOU'LL  HAVE  TO  SHOW  ME  73 

his  pride  in  his  pocket.  Sometimes  you've  got  to  do 
that,"  she  concluded  seriously.  "It  hurts.  But  it's 
business." 

Gregory's  face  showed  his  surprise  at  her  annuncia 
tion  of  the  business  principle  and,  sensing  that  her 
admission  might  become  embarrassing  at  some  future 
time,  the  girl  changed  the  subject  abruptly. 

"Did  you  see  McCoy  yesterday?"  she  asked. 

"Yes.  We  had  a  long  talk  last  night.  He's  com 
ing  to  work  for  me  as  house-foreman." 

"That's  fine,"  Dickie  commended.  "You'll  like 
him.  He'll  be  just  the  man  for  you." 

Gregory  nodded.  "Yes,"  he  answered.  "I  think 
we'll  get  on  fine  when  we  understand  each  other 
better." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?  You  haven't  had  a  row  with 
Jack  already,  have  you?" 

"Not  exactly.  Just  a  difference  of  opinion.  I  had 
an  idea  I  worked  out  yesterday.  McCoy  couldn't  see 
it." 

"What  was  the  idea?" 

"It  was  a  plan  I  had  for  getting  labor.  I  wanted 
to  hire  a  certain  class  of  men.  McCoy  didn't." 

"How  did  it  come  out  ?" 

"I'm  going  to  hire  them,  of  course.  I  told  McCoy 
if  he  didn't  like  it,  he  could  take  the  job  or  leave  it. 
He  decided  to  take  it." 

"It's  the  foreman's  job  to  hire  the  help,"  the  girl 
observed.  "What  was  your  plan  ?" 

Gregory  looked  the  girl  full  in  the  eyes  for  a  mo- 


74  EL  DIABLO 

ment.  Then  he  began :  "I'm  going  to  organize  my 
business  on  a  cooperative  basis,  make  my  employees 
partners,  pay  them  a  graduated  minimum  wage  and  a 
share  in  the  profits  which  will  be  held  back  as  a  bonus 
to  make  it  worth  their  while  to  stick  with  me  during 
the  season." 

"And  McCoy  thought  it  wouldn't  work?" 

"Yes." 

"Neither  do  I." 

"Why  not?" 

Dickie  knew  the  question  was  coming  and  was 
already  prepared  to  give  her  reasons. 

"When  a  man  works  for  you,"  she  explained,  "he 
wants  his  money  every  Saturday  night.  He's  earned 
it  and  he  should  have  it.  He  may  leave  the  minute  it's 
in  his  fingers  and  hit  the  grit  again.  But  he's  worked 
a  week  at  least  and  that's  something.  If  he  thinks 
you're  holding  out  on  him  to  get  him  to  stick,  he 
wouldn't  even  start." 

"That  is  what  McCoy  said.  But  you  are  both 
wrong.  The  men  I  am  figuring  on  hiring  will  stick. 
That  is  why  I  am  hiring  them." 

"Don't  think  much  of  a  bunch  like  that,"  Dickie 
commented.  "A  man  that  can't  get  a  job  to-day  is  a 
bum.  And  the  fellow  doesn't  live  that  ever  gets 
through  knocking  around.  That  is  if  he's  a  real  man." 

"You're  wrong  again,"  Gregory  contradicted. 
"They  are  eighteen-carat  men.  I've  tried  them  out 
already.  I  know." 

"Where?" 


YOU'LL  HAVE  TO  SHOW  ME  75 

"In  France." 

"You  mean  soldiers?" 

"Yes.  I  called  up  a  friend  of  mine  last  night  in 
Port  Angeles.  He  used  to  be  first  lieutenant  in  my 
company.  He's  a  reporter  on  The  Times  now. 
Hawkins  told  me  a  lot  of  the  boys  were  out  of  work 
and  he  promised  to  look  up  a  number  of  addresses  of 
men  in  my  old  outfit.  To-morrow  I'm  going  to  the 
city  to  round  them  up.  They've  stood  by  me  before 
in  many  a  tight  place.  It  cost  them  a  lot  sometimes. 
But  they  stuck  just  the  same.  Now  I've  got  a  chance 
to  stick  by  them.  And  I'm  going  to  do  it  because  I 
know  they'll  come  up  to  the  scratch." 

The  girl  was  impressed  by  the  earnestness  of  his 
words.  He  meant  well  of  course.  It  was  a  splendid 
idea  but 

She  voiced  her  objections.  "You'll  find  business  is 
a  different  game  from  war." 

"Perhaps.  But  in  both  there  is  hard  fighting. 
And  when  you  are  going  into  a  scrap  with  all  you've 
got,  you  want  men  behind  you  you  can  bank  on." 

"I  wouldn't  bank  on  them  too  strong.  A  lot  of  the 
ones  I've  seen  think  they're  too  good  to  work  at  an 
ordinary  job.  They  have  an  idea  the  war  has  made 
them  worth  a  lot  more  money  than  they  really  are. 
They  like  to  tell  what  great  things  they've  done.  But 
when  it  comes  to " 

"I've  seen  that  kind,  too.  On  both  sides  of  the 
water.  Over  there  no  one  depended  on  them.  They 
were  shunted  from  pillar  to  post  until  they  hit  a  place 


76  EL  DIABLO 

where  they  couldn't  even  hear  the  guns.  When  the 
war  was  over  they  came  back.  They  were  whole. 
And  they  talked." 

He  paused  for  a  moment  and  looked  down  at  the 
deck  Then  he  went  on  in  a  low  voice:  "The  kind 
I'm  figuring  on  are  not  whole.  And  they  don't  talk." 

Dickie  Lang  said  no  more.  When  a  man  spoke 
with  such  depth  of  feeling,  what  was  the  use  of  trying 
to  talk  him  out  of  it.  Of  course  he  was  wrong.  But 
he'd  just  have  to  find  it  out  for  himself.  In  silence 
they  neared  the  entrance  to  the  bay  and  threaded  their 
way  among  the  fishingr-boats  as  they  drew  up  to  the 
Lang  wharf.  Gregory  roused  himself  at  the  sight  of 
the  Lang  dock  and  turned  to  the  girl. 

"You  took  me  out  this  morning,"  he  said,  "to 
show  me  you  knew  your  business.  Now  it's  up  to  me 
to  show  you  I  know  mine.  I'm  going  right  to  work. 
I  expect  a  hard  fight,  but  I'll  tell  you  right  now  this 
idea  of  mine  is  going  to  win  out." 

Dickie  smiled  as  they  drew  alongside  the  dock. 

"Go  to  it,"  she  said.  "I  won't  say  you're  wrong. 
But  you'll  certainly  have  to  show  me." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

f 

A   DECLARATION    OF    INDEPENDENCE 

\V7HAT  do  you  expect  me  to  do  with  a  bunch  of 
"  cripples  like  that?" 

Jack  McCoy  burst  into  the  office  of  the  Legonia 
Fish  Cannery  and  hurled  the  question  angrily  at  his 
young  employer. 

Gregory  looked  hard  at  McCoy's  flushed  face  and 
snapping  gray  eyes.  Then  he  said  quietly :  "I  expect 
you  to  train  them." 

"My  God!"  McCoy  came  a  step  closer.  Then 
he  burst  out :  "Don't  you  know  it's  hard  enough  to 
run  a  cannery  with  real  men  without " 

Gregory  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant. 

"Don't  say  it,"  he  gritted.  "Unless  you  want  to 
hook  up  with  me  right  now." 

McCoy  sought  to  explain. 

"I'm  not  saying  anything  against  them,"  he  said. 
"But  you  don't  understand.  I  wonder  if  you  have  any 
idea  what  it  means  to  break  in  a  bunch  like  that." 

"Yes.  That  is  why  I  hired  you.  I  believed  you 
could  do  it.  If  you  can't,  I'll  find  some  one  else  who 
will." 

Gregory  leaned  against  the  desk. 

77 


78  EL  DIABLO 

"Listen,  McCoy/'  he  said.  "You  and  I  have  to 
get  down  to  cases  right  now.  There's  no  use  flying  off 
the  handle.  If  you  have  anything  to  say,  I'll  hear  it. 
Anything  except  a  word  against  those  men  out  there. 
They've  had  enough  already.  You  told  me  the  other 
day,"  he  went  on,  "you  could  break  in  anybody  who'd 
stick.  You  showed  me  just  the  kind  of  work  there  is 
to  do.  These  men  I'll  guarantee  will  stick  and  I  think 
you'll  get  quite  a  jolt  when  you  see  what  they've  been 
taught  to  do.  They're  not  all  cripples.  I've  got  some 
huskies  for  the  strong-arm  stuff.  And  there  is  a  lot 
the  other  fellows  can  do.  I  want  you  to  show  them 
how.  You  are  not  taking  much  of  a  chance  that  I  can 
see.  You'll  get  your  money  the  same  as  you  always 
have,  more  if  you  stick  through.  And  every  dollar  we 
make,  you'll  have  a  few  cents  of  it  at  least.  Can  you 
see  anything  wrong  with  that?" 

"I  don't  see  where  you're  going  to  get  off.  You 
seem  to  think  there  is  a  fortune  in  this  business.  I'll 
tell  you  there  isn't.  It's  hard  sledding  to  make  both 
ends  meet  as  it  is." 

"I  know  it.  Last  night  I  sat  up  half  the  night 
going  over  the  books.  I  found  my  father  lost  more 
money  on  account  of  labor  trouble  than  from  any 
other  cause." 

"Except  not  being  able  to  get  fish,"  corrected 
McCoy. 

"Exactly.  That's  labor  just  the  same.  Since  this 
idea  came  to  me  it's  getting  bigger  all  the  time.  I'm 
going  to  extend  it  to  the  boats  as  well  as  the  inside. 


A  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE    79 

I've  got  a  plan  to  have  Miss  Lang  take  charge  of  the 
fishing  end,  train  my  men  and  run  her  boats  for  me 
on  a  flat  rental  and  salary." 

McCoy  began  to  show  more  interest.  "Is  she  in 
on  the  deal?"  he  asked. 

"I  haven't  had  a  chance  to  talk  with  her  yet.  I'm 
going  to  see  her  to-day." 

McCoy  smiled.  "I'd  like  to  see  Dick's  face  when 
you  spring  the  proposition  of  having  her  work  for 
you,"  he  said. 

"Suppose  she  turns  me  down.  Has  that  anything 
to  do  with  your  working  for  me  ?" 

McCoy's  face  flushed.  "Don't  know  that  it  has," 
he  admitted,  "but " 

The  telephone  interrupted  further  conversation  and 
Gregory  turned  to  the  instrument. 

"Yes — Mr.  Gregory  at  the  phone.     All  right." 

McCoy  watched  the  silent  figure  as  he  listened  to 
the  message;  saw  his  jaws  set  tighter  as  he  replaced 
the  receiver  and  faced  about. 

"I'd  kind  of  like  to  talk  this  thing  over  with  Blair," 
McCoy  began.  "You  see 

"I  just  received  a  telegram  from  the  sanitarium. 
Mr.  Blair  died  this  morning  at  nine  o'clock." 

McCoy  crumpled  in  his  chair  and  rested  his  head 
in  his  hands.  "Poor  old  John,"  he  muttered  brokenly, 
"I  ought  to  have  gone  up  last  night  when  they  phoned 
me  he  was  so  much  worse."  He  raised  his  head  and 
there  were  tears  shining  in  his  eyes.  "They  didn't 
make  them  any  whiter  than  John  Blair,"  he  said. 


8o  EL  DIABLO 

Gregory  agreed. 

"I  knew  him  only  slightly,"  he  said.  "But  I 
surely  counted  on  him.  His  loss  means  a  lot  to  me. 
I'll  go  up  there  right  away  and  see  if  there  is  anything 
I  can  do.  Would  you  like  to  go  with  me?" 

McCoy  could  only  nod  and  the  two  men  left  the 
building  together. 

The  hearts  of  men  are  tested  in  various  crucibles. 
In  a  smoothly-moving  world  human  paths  diverge  and 
the  grooves  are  often  widened  by  indifference.  In 
times  of  stress,  the  diverse  threads  of  commonplace 
existence  may  merge  into  a  single  strand.  Then  it  is 
that  casual  acquaintances  become  friends,  when  man 
rubs  elbow  with  man  and  hearts  beat  together  in 
mutual  sympathy  and  understanding. 

Jack  McCoy  returned  to  Legonia  saddened  by  the 
loss  of  an  old  friend;  gladdened  by  the  belief  that  he 
had  found  a  new  one.  It  was  not  what  Gregory  had 
done  that  made  the  difference  to  McCoy;  simply  the 
way  he  had  done  it.  Any  man  with  money  could  have 
defrayed  the  expenses  of  Blair's  sickness  and  funeral. 
But  it  took  a  real  man  to  make  the  gratuity  appear  as 
a  favor  to  the  donor. 

When  he  met  Gregory  at  the  cannery  the  morning 
after  their  return  to  Legonia,  McCoy  was  not  slow  in 
admitting  that  he  was  strong  for  the  boss. 

"If  we  had  time,  Jack,"  Gregory  was  saying, 
"there  is  nothing  I'd  rather  do  right  now  than  give  you 
a  week  off  on  full  pay.  But  you  know  what  that 


A  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE    81 

would  mean  to  us  at  this  time.  Before  we  start  in  I 
want  to  make  you  another  proposition." 

As  the  foreman  said  nothing,  he  asked  bluntly: 
"How  would  you  like  the  job  as  house  manager?" 

"Fine,"  McCoy  answered.  "Do  you  think  I  could 
cut  it?" 

"Do  you?" 

"Yes,"  McCoy  answered  with  no  hesitation. 

"All  right  then,"  Gregory  answered  in  the  same 
manner.  "So  do  I.  You've  got  a  real  job  ahead  of 
you.  Minutes  are  going  to  count  in  the  next  few 
days.  The  next  batch  of  my  service  men  are  due 
to-morrow." 

McCoy  jumped  up.  "That  means  a  day's  work 
for  me,"  he  exclaimed,  and  hurried  out. 

Gregory  glanced  at  his  watch.  The  next  thing  to 
be  done  was  to  see  Dickie  Lang.  The  matter  of  secur 
ing  fish  was  of  cardinal  importance.  The  girl  would 
be  at  the  dock  about  this  time.  It  would  afford  him  a 
good  chance  to  make  his  proposal  while  she  was  getting 
the  fish  ready  for  shipment. 

Some  time  after  Gregory  had  left  the  cannery, 
Barnes  reported  he  was  out  of  carborundum  and 
McCoy  set  out  at  once  for  Legonia. 

"They'd  be  all  day  sending  it  up,"  he  said.  "I've 
got  to  do  down  anyway  and  check  over  some  stuff  for 
us  at  the  freight-house  so  it  might  as  well  be  now." 

On  nearing  the  Lang  dock  he  heard  Dickie's  voice 
issuing  from  a  pile  of  fish-boxes  at  the  shore  end. 


82  EL  DIABLO 

McCoy  checked  his  steps  involuntarily  at  the  girl's 
words,  and  without  meaning  to — listened. 

"So  you  want  to  pay  me  a  flat  rate  for  my  boats 
and  hire  me  to  train  your  men  with  my  fishermen?" 

"Yes.     With  a  share  in  the  profits/7 

It  was  Gregory's  voice.  McCoy  noted  the  quiet 
tone  used  by  the  girl.  He  felt  ashamed  to  eavesdrop. 
But  he  was  torn  with  curiosity  to  hear  Dick's  answer. 

"Well,  you've  got  your  nerve,  I'd  say.  And  then 
some.  Do  you  think  you  can  run  my  business  better 
than  I  can  myself?" 

"If  I  did,  I'd  try  to  buy  you  out.  I'm  asking  you  to 
run  my  boats  as  well  as  your  own  and " 

"Be  your  hired  girl." 

Dickie  supplied  the  words  and  went  on  angrily: 
"Say,  the  Lang  boats  were  here  a  long  time  before 
you  came.  And  they'll  be  here  as  long  after  you  go. 
They  have  gone  on  their  own  hook  ever  since  they 
went  into  the  water.  And  that's  the  way  they  are 
going  to  stay.  My  dad  never  took  orders  from  any 
body.  He  run  his  boats  the  way  he  pleased.  He  was 
independent.  I'm  the  same  way.  And  I  want  to  tell 
you  right  now,  I  wouldn't  sell  out  my  independence  to 
you  or  any  other  man." 

McCoy  crept  back  into  the  shadow  of  the  fishing- 
boxes  and  making  a  wide  detour  went  on  into  town. 
He  was  sorry  he  had  listened.  It  wasn't  a  white  thing 
to  do.  He  liked  Gregory.  He  was  his  friend.  Then 
why,  he  asked  himself,  was  he  kind  of  glad  that  Dick 
had  turned  down  his  proposition? 


CHAPTER  IX 

DIABLO  LUCK 

DUSY  days  followed  for  Kenneth  Gregory,  and  with 
the  loyal  support  of  Jack  McCoy,  much  was 
accomplished. 

The  Legonia  Fish  Cannery  wakened  from  its  long 
sleep  and  took  on  new  life.  From  the  receiving  floor 
to  the  warehouse  everything  had  been  carefully  over 
hauled  and  put  into  first-class  shape.  Necessary 
repairs  and  alterations  had  been  made.  Supplies  and 
material  were  on  hand.  A  nucleus  of  skilled  labor 
had  been  carefully  selected  by  McCoy  and  brought  to 
train  the  service  men  who  came  to  Legonia  on  every 
incoming  train. 

The  sleepy  little  fishing  village  viewed  the  van 
guard  of  the  ex-soldiers  with  sullen  indifference.  Sil- 
vanus  Rock  had  told  them  not  to  worry  their  heads 
over  the  "efforts  of  an  impractical  dreamer  to  turn 
the  town  upside  down."  And  who  knew,  if  Rock 
didn't?  As  the  days  went  by,  however,  and  the 
invasion  became  more  noticeable,  the  alien  element  of 
the  fishing  colony  began  to  experience  a  feeling  of 
sharp  resentment  against  the  new  owner  of  the 
Legonia  cannery  and  his  wild  scheme.  But  again  the 

83 


84  EL  DIABLO 

foremost  citizen  had  come  to  the  fore  and  quieted  their 
fears,  turning  them  into  open  contempt  and  ridicule  by 
his  words : 

"What  can  he  do  with  a  bunch  of  crippled  rag- 
a-muffins?  Look  at  them  for  yourselves.  There's 
hardly  a  whole  man  among  them.  I  give  him  a  month 
to  go  to  the  wall.  It's  the  old  saying  of  a  'fool  and  his 
money.' ' 

The  opening  of  the  new  cannery  presented  every 
appearance  of  proving  the  truth  of  Rock's  prophecy 
and  caused  the  aliens  to  laugh  openly. 

"How  can  they  run  without  fish?"  sneered 
Mascola  as  he  checked  the  catch  of  the  incoming  boats. 
"They  haven't  had  enough  in  a  week  to  pay  them  to 
keep  up  steam." 

Ten  days  after  the  opening  Gregory  was  asking 
Jack  McCoy  the  same  question. 

"I  tell  you,  Mac,  something  has  to  be  done.  The 
Lang  boats  are  falling  down  on  the  job.  You'll  admit 
we  haven't  had  a  paying  run  since  we  started  and 
expenses  are  climbirig." 

McCoy  nodded.  "I  know  it,"  he  agreed.  "But 
Dick  has  had  hard  luck.  None  of  the  boats  have 
brought  in  much  lately.  The  fish  have  taken  out  to 
sea.  Then  Mascola's  men  have  been  causing  a  lot  of 
trouble." 

"That's  just  it,"  Gregory  interrupted.  "The  girl's 
tackled  too  big  a  job.  I  was  afraid  of  it  all  the  time. 
She's  all  right,  Jack.  I'm  not  saying  a  word  against 
her.  But  she  was  foolish  to  get  on  her  'high-horse' 


DIABLO  LUCK  85 

and  turn  down  my  proposition.  It's  a  man's  job  to 
get  all  the  fish  we're  going  to  need.  Not  a  woman's. 
Of  course  I  know  she's  doing  her  best,"  he  went  on. 
"But  we  can't  go  on  this  way.  If  she  can't  make  good 
on  her  contract  we'll  have  to  take  it  out  of  her  hands. 
I'm  only  going  to  give  her  a  few  more  days." 

"Then  what?"     McCoy  questioned. 

"Then  we'll  run  things  ourselves.  I've  been  figur 
ing  on  it  for  three  or  four  days.  That's  why  I'm 
having  all  our  boats  put  in  shape." 

"How  will  you  man  them?"  asked  McCoy  quickly. 

"I've  arranged  for  that  too.  The  last  time  I  was  in 
the  city  I  lined  up  a  bunch  of  ex-navy  men.  They  are 
fair  sailors  and  have  had  some  experience  in  handling 
launches  and  small  boats.  I'm  going  to  bring  them 
down  here  the  same  as  I  figured  at  first.  If  the  girl 
wants  to  help  me  with  her  men,  all  right.  If  not,  we'll 
go  it  alone.  It's  a  ground-hog  case.  We've  got  to  get 
the  fish." 

"I  wish  Dick  wasn't  so  darned  independent," 
observed  McCoy.  "If  it  was  anybody  else,  they'd 
jump  at  your  offer." 

"That's  the  trouble,"  Gregory  admitted.  "She's  a 
woman  and  she's  mighty  hard  to  talk  out  of  an  idea 
she  sets  her  mind  on.  If  I  was  dealing  with  a  man  I'd 
have  come  to  a  show-down  long  before  this.  As  it  is, 
I'm  going  to  see  her  this  afternoon  and  try  to  get  down 
to  brass  tacks." 

A  screech  of  the  steam  whistle  interrupted  further 
speech  and  the  two  men  jumped  to  their  feet  and 


86  EL  DIABLO 

hurried  out  on  the  floor  of  the  cannery  at  the  signal 
to  resume  work. 

"Only  have  enough  to  run  about  an  hour,"  McCoy 
answered  in  response  to  Gregory's  question  concerning 
the  supply  of  fish  on  hand.  And  as  he  noticed  the 
frown  on  his  employer's  face,  he  supplemented: 
"We've  had  enough  the  last  few  days  to  break  the 
crew  in  anyway." 

"That's  something,  but  it  isn't  good  enough/* 
Gregory  answered.  "You're  fixed  right  now  to  handle 
three  times  what  we're  getting.  And  I'm  paying  for 
it.  I'm  not  worrying  about  things  in  here,  Mac. 
Everything  is  going  fine." 

He  paused  suddenly  and  his  face  glowed  with 
enthusiasm  as  he  walked  nearer  the  cutting-bench. 

"Look  at  the  way  those  poor  blind  fellows  are 
taking  to  their  job,  Mac,"  he  whispered.  "They  can't 
tell  black  from  white  but  watch  them  work.  They'll 
be  doing  as  much  in  a  week  as  a  man  with  two  good 
eyes.  How  are  you  coming,  Dorgan?" 

He  addressed  a  cutter  working  at  the  nearest 
bench.  The  blind  man  turned  quickly. 

"Fine,  Capt.  It's  getting  easier  all  the  time. 
'Twon't  be  long  before  I'll  be  making  real  wages  at 
this  job." 

They  passed  from  the  blind  cutters  and  came  to  the 
capping  machine  where  a  man  with  an  artificial  leg 
was  being  instructed  in  soldering  the  cans.  Again 
Gregory's  eyes  expressed  his  satisfaction. 


DIABLO  LUCK  87 

"That's  fine,  Carlson,"  he  commended.  "You're 
getting  on  fine.'' 

The  man  at  the  machine  nodded.  "Nothing  much 
to  it,'5  he  answered  cheerfully.  "Got  kind  of  tired 
standing  at  first.  But  I  don't  notice  it  much  now." 

Kenneth  Gregory  strove  to  express  his  appreciation 
of  McCoy's  work  as  they  came  to  one  of  the  empty 
warehouses,  but  the  manager  refused  to  take  the 
credit. 

"It  was  your  idea,"  he  said,  "you  paid  me  to  carry 
it  out.  At  first  I  didn't  think  much  of  it.  But  now  I 
believe  it's  going  to  work.  The  men  are  tickled  to 
death.  I  never  had  a  crew  that  tried  so  hard  to  learn 
or  picked  it  up  so  quickly.  I  can  handle  an  average 
run  with  them  right  now  and  they've  only  been  work 
ing  broken  hours  for  a  week." 

Gregory  turned  quickly  to  McCoy  and  said  earn 
estly  :  "It's  a  big  idea,  Mac.  It  will  work.  It's  got 
to  work.  It's  getting  bigger  all  the  time.  And  I'll  be 
damned  if  I'm  going  to  have  a  girl  hang  me  up  by  fall 
ing  down  on  her  job." 

He  shut  his  lips  tight  as  he  drew  a  blue-print  from 
his  pocket  and  spread  it  out  on  an  empty  case. 

"Now  I  want  to  go  over  these  plans  for  making  a 
bunk-house  out  of  this  building.  The  boys  can't  get  a 
decent  place  to  stay  in  the  town.  The  contractor  will 
be  here  in  half  an  hour.  After  I've  closed  with  him  I'm 
going  down  to  the  Lang  dock  and  see  the  girl." 

Dickie  Lang  paced  the  docks  in  nervous  expec- 


88  EL  DIABLO 

tancy  while  she  checked  in  her  returning  fleet  and 
conferred  with  one  of  her  fishing  captains. 

"I'll  tell  you,  Tom,  we've  got  to  get  them.  I'm 
under  contract  to  supply  Mr.  Gregory  with  fish  and 
I  can't  fall  down  like  this.  Look  here."  Shoving  a 
tally-sheet  before  his  eyes,  she  pointed  to  the  totals. 
"Not  enough  there  to  last  him  half  a  day.  He's  begin 
ning  to  eat  them  up.  We've  got  to  get  more." 

"But  if  they  ain't  runnin,'  what  you  going  to  do?" 

"Go  after  them,"  she  snapped.  "Mascola's  getting 
fish.  He's  going  out  to  sea  for  them.  He  brought  in 
a  good  haul  yesterday  from  Diablo.  That's  why  I 
sent  the  big  boats  over  there  with  the  Petrel  scouting 
ahead." 

The  fisherman  shook  his  head  dubiously. 

"You're  takin'  a  tall  chance,"  he  said  slowly. 
"Things  happen  out  Diablo  way.  Your  dad  never 
could  make  it  stick  out  there.  He  lost  a  heap  around 
that  devil-island.  That's  why  he  give  up  fishin'  out 
there." 

"He  didn't  give  it  up,"  the  girl  flashed,  "any  more 
than  I'm  going  to  give  it  up.  Diablo's  got  your  goats, 
and  you  know  it.  There's  always  fish  around  the 
island  and  I'll  bet  you  two  to  one  when  the  fleet  comes 
back  they'll  have  them  to  burn." 

Turning  with  disgust,  Dickie  walked  to  the  end 
of  the  dock  and  sought  to  pierce  the  shifting  curtain 
of  mist  which  hung  about  the  inlet.  It  came  to  her 
suddenly  that  in  her  anger  at  Gregory's  proposal,  she 
had  made  a  big  promise.  Moreover  she  had  entered 


DIABLO  LUCK  89 

into  a  contract  which  she  was  finding  more  difficult  to 
fulfill  than  she  had  imagined.  Perhaps  she  was  a 
fool  not  to  have  taken  up  the  cannery-owner's  proposi 
tion.  At  least  it  was  worth  considering.  By  accepting 
his  terms  all  the  worry  would  have  been  shifted  to  him 
and  she  would  have  been  able  to  play  safe.  In  a  year 
she  would  have  been  out  of  debt.  With  her  boats  paid 
for,  she  could  afford  to  be  independent.  Now,  she  was 
going  further  behind  each  day.  Worse  than  that,  she 
was  falling  down  on  her  contract. 

Finishing  his  business  with  the  contractor  a  half- 
hour  before  closing  time,  Gregory  hurried  down  to 
the  Lang  wharf. 

He  found  the  girl  busied  with  her  tally-sheets  and 
stepped  behind  a  row  of  fish-boxes  and  waited.  From 
his  position  he  could  see  the  neighboring  dock  where  a 
number  of  alien  fishermen  were  at  work  mending  nets. 
Apart  from  the  others  was  the  huge  figure  of  a  red- 
shirted  man  standing  motionless,  scowling  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  Lang  wharf.  As  he  looked  closer,  he 
became  conscious  of  the  fact  that  he  had  seen  the  red- 
shirted  giant  before. 

Boisterous  laughter  floated  across  the  intervening 
strip  of  water  and  a  scarlet  sleeve  flashed  as  the  big 
man  shook  his  fist  threateningly  at  the  rival  dock. 

'They  are  kidding  the  Russian  about  losing  the 
Roma  and  getting  canned  by  the  boss,"  explained  a 
fisherman  who  was  passing  by.  "Boris  is  sorer  than 
a  boiled  owl  at  being  run  on  the  rocks  by  a  girl." 


9o 


EL  DIABLO 


Gregory  watched  the  excited  foreigner  in  silence. 
A  man  like  that  could  cause  a  lot  of  trouble.  Suddenly 
he  heard  the  sound  of  low  voices  on  the  other  side  of 
the  lane  of  fish-boxes. 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  it  ?  We've  got  to  live 
as  well  as  she  has.  We  ain't  gettin'  enough  I  tell  you, 
and  you  know  it.  What's  the  use  of  bein'  a  damn 
fool?" 

The  words  died  away  in  a  low  mumble  as  the 
men  passed  on.  Gregory  emerged  from  his  cover  and 
looked  after  the  two  fishermen.  Then  he  noticed  the 
girl  had  finished  her  calculations  and  hurried  toward 
her. 

"I  suppose  you  want  to  know  what  I  have/'  she 
anticipated.  "Well,  I  haven't  much  yet.  If  you  stay 
round  a  little  while  though  I'll  show  you  a  real  haul. 
I'm  expecting  my  boats  back  at  any  minute  from  El 
Diablo." 

Gregory  scarcely  knew  how  to  begin  the  interview. 
The  girl  was  clearly  unreasonable  and  flared  up  at  the 
slightest  intimation  that  she  was  unable  to  manage  her 
own  business.  And  yet  it  was  perfectly  clear  that  she 
could  not. 

"Fish  is  what  we're  needing  right  now,"  he  said 
with  blunt  emphasis.  "We're  ready  to  go.  McCoy 
has  a  good  crew  and  he  can  handle  them  fast.  A 
whole  lot  faster  than  we've  been  getting  them,"  he 
added. 

She  interrupted  as  he  knew  she  would. 


DIABLO  LUCK  91 

"Well,  I'm  doing  my  level  darnedest,"  she  retorted. 
"If  I  wasn't  I  guess  I  wouldn't  have  risked  my  best 
boats  at  Diablo  in  a  fog."  As  Gregory  said  nothing  in 
the  way  of  argument,  she  challenged :  "Do  you  think 
you  could  do  any  better?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered  without  any  hesitation,  "I 
think  I  could.  That  is  if  you  would  help  me.  I  think 
if  we  would  pull  together  on  this  proposition  we  could 
do  a  whole  lot.  Right  now  you  are  threatened  with 
labor  trouble." 

"You  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about.  My 
men  are  loyal  to  me  and  always  have  been.  They'll 
stick  from  start  to  finish." 

Gregory  related  the  conversation  he  had  overheard 
a  few  minutes  before.  As  he  finished,  he  noted  that 
a  worried  expression  crept  to  the  girl's  eyes,  though 
she  said: 

"What's  that  amount  to?  There  are  always  some 
who  are  dissatisfied  and  try  to  cause  trouble.  I'm  well 
rid  of  a  bunch  like  that  anyway.  There  are  not  many 
of  them." 

It  was  on  Gregory's  tongue  to  broach  his  proposal 
when  he  saw  the  girl  looking  eagerly  past  him  into 
the  wall  of  fog.  Through  the  veil  he  caught  the  dim 
outline  of  an  approaching  fishing-boat. 

"Here  comes  the  Curlew  back  from  Diablo.  Before 
you  say  anything  more  wait  until  you  see  what  luck 
they've  had.  If  I  don't  miss  my  guess  we'll  have  fish 
enough  for  you  now  all  right." 


92  EL  DIABLO 

Together  they  walked  down  the  steep  gangway  to 
the  swaying  float. 

"If  I  can't  get  them  at  Diablo,  I  can't  get  them 
anywhere,"  exclaimed  Dickie  Lang.  Then  she  shouted 
to  the  captain  of  the  Curlew.  "What  luck,  Jones?" 

From  the  gray  void  of  fog  a  deep  voice  floated 
back : 

"Diablo  luck.  Never  got  nothin'  and  the  Petrel 
was  smashed  to  hell." 


CHAPTER  X 

SALVAGE 

"TMCKIE  LANG  was  nonplussed.  Her  best  bet  was 
^*^  thrown  into  the  discard.  Her  pride  and  inde 
pendence  had  been  at  stake.  For  her  most  valued 
possessions,  she  had  risked  her  all,  and  "stood  pat"  on 
the  turn-up  at  the  devil-island.  Her  cards  were  all  on 
the  table.  Now  she  had  lost.  Leaning  against  the 
sagging  rail  she  watched  the  Curlew  draw  alongside 
the  float.  Her  slender  fingers  gripped  the  hand-rail 
and  the  sharp  splinters  bit  into  her  hands.  But  what 
was  that  to  the  pain  which  gnawed  at  her  heart  ?  She 
hadn't  made  good.  The  taste  of  failure  was  a  new 
and  strange  sensation.  She  had  made  her  fight,  done 
her  best.  But  it  wasn't  good  enough.  But  why  was 
it  necessary  to  take  the  little  Petrel?  Was  Diablo  to 
beat  her  as  it  had  beaten  others?  No,  she  must  buck 
up.  She  was  Bill  Lang's  daughter. 

"It's  all  in  the  game,"  she  exclaimed  to  Gregory. 
"As  I  told  you,  the  sea  plays  no  favorites." 

Before  the  young  man  could  answer,  she  had  turned 
from  him  to  meet  the  men  who  were  climbing  from  the 
incoming  vessel. 

"Hello,  boys.    Tough  luck.     But  we  can't  help  it. 

93 


94  EL  DIABLO 

Tell  me  what  happened.  Make  it  short.  I've  got  a  lot 
to  do." 

The  fishermen  grouped  themselves  about  her  as 
the  quivering  figure  of  a  little  Mexican  lunged 
through  the  circle  and  began  to  speak: 

"Dios,  Senorita,  it  was  very  bad/'  he  quavered. 
"We  were  lying  close  to  shore.  The  fog  was  every 
where.  We  could  not  see.  And  the  anchor,  it  would 
not  hold.  I  was  at  the  chain  as  you  say  I  must  when 
I  hear  a  boat  coming.  Jesus  de  mi  alma,  but  she  is 
coming  fast.  I  can  not  leave  as  we  are  drifting  and  I 
say  to  Pedro  that  he  make  a  noise  with  the  whistle. 
But  he  does  not  get  a  chance.  As  he  jumped  for  the 
engine-house  a  big  boat  she  come  right  out  of  the  fog 
and  before  we  can  move,  she  smash  us  all  to  hell.  I 
fall  into  the  water  with  Pedro  and  loose  the  dory.  For 
a  time  we  drift.  Then  we  are  picked  up  by  Senor 
Jones." 

"Did  the  Petrel  sink  right  away?"  Dickie  inter 
rupted. 

Another  man  crowded  forward  and  answered  the 
question. 

"She  didn't  sink  at  all,  miss.  She  wasn't  far  from 
the  shore  and  she  drifted  in  with  the  tide  that  was 
settin'  in  strong.  Then  she  piled  up  on  the  rocks. 
She's  layin'  there  now,  high  and  dry  on  the  beach." 

"Didn't  the  boat  that  smashed  them,  lay  to?"  vol 
leyed  the  girl. 

Again    the    Mexican    began   to    speak   excitedly: 


SALVAGE  95 

"Sangre  de  Christo,  no,"  he  chattered,  "The  boat,  she 
was  very  big,  senoritatand  she  did  not  stop." 

"Nonsense,  Manuel.  You  were  crazy  with  fright. 
Don't  talk  like  a  fool.  Go  home  and  go  to  bed.  When 
you've  had  a  good  sleep,  I'll  talk  with  you  again." 

Stung  into  action  by  Jones's  statement  that  the  hull 
of  the  Petrel  was  still  on  the  beach,  she  turned  suddenly 
to  the  wharf. 

"Tom  Howard,"  she  called  sharply.  When  a  voice 
answered,  she  ordered:  "Fill  up  the  Pelican  with 
oil  and  stock  her  with  grub.  You  can  get  it  from 
Swanson.  Throw  in  a  couple  of  deep-sea  hooks  and 
a  lot  of  good  hauser.  Mind  it's  new.  Be  ready  to  pull 
out  in  an  hour."  She  turned  again  to  the  men  before 
her.  "Jones,  I  want  you  to  get  the  Curlew  ready. 
We  may  need  two  boats  to  pull  her  off.  You  know 
where  they  went  ashore.  Take  Johnson  and  Rasmus- 
sen  with  you.  We've  got  to  move  lively.  A  boat 
won't  hang  together  long  out  there." 

"Rasmussen's  sick.  How  about  Pete  Carlin?  He 
was  with  me  coming  over." 

"Don't  want  him,  Jones.  Got  to  have  men  who 
know  the  game  round  Diablo  in  a  fog.  Take 
Sorenson." 

The  fisherman  nodded  and  lumbered  up  the  gang 
way  followed  by  others.  Dickie  Lang  jammed  her 
hands  deep  down  into  her  pockets  and  shrugged  her 
shoulders  as  she  turned  to  Gregory. 

"If  it  isn't  one  thing,  it's  another,"  she  said  quietly. 
"Can  you  beat  it?  Manuel  saying  he  was  run  down? 


96  EL  DIABLO 

He  was  scared  to  death.  I  don't  believe  a  thing 
touched  him.  He  just  went  to  sleep  and  drifted  in  on 
the  rocks  and  made  up  that  story  to  save  his  job. 
Well,  we'll  know  when  I  see  the  hull." 

Gregory  listened,  scarcely  hearing  the  girl's  words. 
At  her  announcement  of  going  to  the  island  he  began 
to  make  tentative  plans  to  accompany  her.  There 
might  be  a  lot  he  could  do.  And  she  sure  needed  help. 
He  wondered  if  he  could  offer  his  assistance  without 
again  antagonizing  her. 

"I'd  like  to  go  with  you,"  he  said  bluntly.  "I  don't 
know  much  about  the  sea  yet,  but  maybe  I  can  do 
some  of  the  strong-arm  stuff  and  learn  something. 
Besides,  I  want  to  have  a  look  at  Diablo." 

Dickie  regarded  him  approvingly. 

"How  about  the  cannery?"  she  asked.  "My  boats 
will  go  on  fishing  just  the  same." 

"McCoy  can  take  care  of  things  all  right  until  I 
get  back.  I'll  learn  a  lot  more  over  there  than  sticking 
around  here." 

"You're  the  boss  of  that,"  she  replied.  Then  she 
added  as  an  afterthought.  "I'd  be  glad  to  have  you." 

As  they  walked  to  the  wharf  Gregory  encountered 
McCoy  and  explained  the  situation. 

"So  I'm  going  out  there,"  he  concluded.  "While 
I'm  away  it's  up  to  you." 

McCoy,  he  noticed,  did  not  enthuse  over  the  idea. 

"Diablo's  a  dangerous  place  to  be  fooling  around 
at  this  time  of  the  year,"  he  said. 


SALVAGE  97 

"If  she  can  take  the  risk,  I  surely  can,"  Gregory 
answered  promptly. 

"You're  needed  here,"  objected  McCoy.  "Every 
thing's  new  and  there's  liable  to  be  something  come  up 
I  don't  know  about." 

"Then  do  the  best  you  can.  I'll  back  you  up.  You 
know  a  lot  more  about  it  anyway  than  I  do." 

McCoy  lapsed  into  silence  while  Gregory  hurried 
away  to  make  ready  for  the  trip.  When  they  were 
ready  to  shove  off,  McCoy  watched  the  two  boats 
slide  out  into  the  fog  with  conflicting  emotions.  Dick 
knew  how  to  take  care  of  herself  all  right.  She  could 
handle  a  boat  in  bad  weather  with  the  best  of  them. 
But,  was  that  good  enough?  He  reflected  suddenly 
that  Bill  Lang  had  been  the  best  of  them.  And  it  was 
on  just  such  a  day  as  this  that  Bill  Lang  had  met  his 
death  on  Diablo  with  Gregory's  father. 

Leaning  against  the  dripping  rail,  he  cursed  the 
circumstances  which  prevented  his  being  at  the  girl's 
side  if  anything  went  wrong.  He  liked  the  boss  or  he 
would  have  told  him  to  look  for  another  man.  And 
Gregory's  banking  on  him,  tied  him  up.  His  inability 
to  join  the  expedition  gave  to  another  the  chance  which 
should  have  been  his.  Torn  by  anxiety  for  the  girl's 
welfare  and  another  emotion  he  was  slower  in  analyz 
ing,  he  listened  to  the  faint  gulping  of  the  Pelican's 
exhaust  until  it  was  no  longer  audible. 

The  sun  rose  sullenly  from  a  fog-spotted  sea  and 
glared  wrathfully  at  the  wreaths  of  low-lying  mist 


98  EL  DIABLO 

which  obscured  his  vision  of  the  saw-toothed  peaks  of 
El  Diablo.  Under  the  warmth  of  his  gaze,  the  white- 
fleeced  clouds  wavered,  shifting  about  uncertainly.  As 
if  loath  to  leave  the  devil-island  they  had  guarded 
throughout  the  long  night,  they  contracted  slowly, 
niggardly  exposing  a  line  of  rugged  cliffs  which  shone 
bleak  and  gray  in  the  strengthening  light  of  early 
morning. 

"It's  breaking  up  at  last.    Look !" 

Dickie  Lang  pointed  to  the  dark  blot  on  the  hori 
zon. 

"Can't.  If  I  take  my  eyes  from  this  needle  for  a 
second  the  boat'll  run  all  over  the  ocean." 

Gregory  continued  to  stare  at  the  compass  while 
the  girl  smiled  at  his  earnestness. 

"Tom  will  take  her  now,"  she  said,  nodding  to 
Howard  to  relieve  him  at  the  wheel.  Then  she  added : 
"You've  done  fine.  We've  been  going  all  night  on 
dead  reckoning  and  we're  not  far  off." 

Gregory  surrendered  the  wheel  with  a  sigh  of 
relief  and  followed  the  direction  of  the  girl's  extended 
arm. 

"That's  Diablo,"  she  announced.  "I'm  mighty 
glad  the  fog  is  shifting.  Wouldn't  have  needed  to 
have  started  so  early  if  we  had  known.  But  that's  the 
fun  of  the  sea.  You  never  know.  There  is  no  use 
trying  to  make  it  in  there  in  a  fog,"  she  added.  "It 
is  bad  enough  when  you  can  see." 

While  she  talked  with  Johnson  concerning  the  loca 
tion  of  the  wreck,  Gregory  found  time  to  note  the 


SALVAGE  99 

towering  cliffs  which  rose  precipitously  from  the  blue- 
green  sea.  Somewhere  along  that  rock-crusted  coast, 
he  reflected  bitterly,  Diablo  had  claimed  another  of 
the  Lang  boats  only  a  few  months  ago.  Somewhere 
among  the  white-crested  rocks  his  father  and  Bill 
Lang  had  met  their  death.  He  wondered  where,  but 
did  not  ask.  Perhaps  the  girl  would  speak  of  it. 

For  some  time  he  watched  the  mist-clouds  flee 
before  the  brightening  rays  of  the  rising  sun.  Then 
he  noticed  that  Dickie  was  standing  by  his  side.  Her 
eyes  too  were  held  by  the  rugged  coast. 

"The  devil  dumped  it  there,"  he  heard  her  say  in 
a  low  voice.  "And  when  he  saw  what  a  hellish  coast 
it  was,  he  named  it  for  himself.  That's  what  dad  used 
to  say."  She  flung  out  her  arm  in  the  direction  of 
a  towering  peak.  "At  the  base  of  that  highest  cliff 
was  where  the  Gull  went  on  the  rocks.  They  call  it 
'Hell-Hole.'  " 

Staring  in  silence  at  the  saddle-backed  mountain, 
their  minds  traveled  into  the  past.  Then  Gregory 
asked :  "Does  any  one  live  on  the  island  ?" 

"It's  a  sheep-ranch.  A  man  by  the  name  of 
Bandrist  has  it  leased  on  long  time  from  the  govern 
ment.  He's  Swiss,  I  think.  He  farms  a  little  of  the 
land  that  isn't  too  rocky  and  runs  his  sheep  over  the 
rest.  The  island  is  about  twenty  miles  long  and  over 
ten  in  the  widest  place." 

"Is  fishing  good  out  here?" 

"Fine,"  the  girl  answered.  "Only  it's  dangerous. 
Fogs  in  spring  and  summer,  and  storms  the  rest  of  the 


ioo  EL  DIABLO 

time.  Lots  of  albacore  and  tuna.  But  it  costs  boats 
and  sometimes  men  to  get  them.  Dad  used  to  fish 
out  here,  but  something  was  always  sure  to  happen 
about  the  time  he  got  well  started.  Just  like  yesterday. 
Diablo's  a  place/'  she  said  slowly,  "where  a  man  just 
can't  make  a  mistake.  If  he  does,  he  never  lives  to 
tell  what  happened."  She  pointed  to  the  frowning 
cliffs  which  guarded  the  shore  and  extended  far  out 
into  the  water  in  a  series  of  white-capped  reefs.  "No 
anchorage,"  she  explained.  "And  a  strong  inshore 
current.  When  you  get  weather  out  here,  it's  nasty, 
and  it  hits  you  all  in  a  bunch." 

As  they  neared  the  island  the  Pelican  slowed  down 
to  wait  for  the  Curlew  which  had  been  lagging 
astern. 

"Jones  must  be  having  engine-trouble,"  commented 
Dickie  Lang.  "Or  else  Diablo's  got  him  buffaloed 
too." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Gregory  asked. 

Lowering  her  voice  so  that  it  would  not  reach  the 
two  fishermen  on  the  Pelican,  she  said:  "They  all 
give  Diablo  a  wide  berth.  The  fishermen  are  scared 
to  death  of  the  island.  If  you  want  to  hear  a  lot  of 
wild  tales,  just  talk  to  some  of  my  men  at  Legonia. 
Look  at  Manuel.  Went  clean  out  of  his  head  and  the 
funny  part  of  it  is  the  others  all  believed  him.  What's 
the  matter,  Jones?  Having  trouble?" 

She  addressed  the  skipper  of  the  Curlew  as  he 
brought  his  craft  alongside. 

"Been  havin'  it  all  the  way  over,"  the  man  replied. 


SALVAGE 

"Compression's  gettin'  worse  all  the  time."  He  drew 
a  grimy  hand  across  his  blackened  forehead  and 
squinted  in  the  direction  of  the  island.  "No  place  to 
be  foolin'  round  with  a  cripple  either,  I  can  tell  you," 
he  growled.  "Reckon  I'd  better  lay  to  until  I  can  get 
patched  up." 

The  girl's  brow  wrinkled. 

"All  right,  Jones.  I'll  go  on.  Follow  when  you 
can.  We'll  be  around  that  next  point.  Can  you  beat 
that  ?"  she  exclaimed  in  a  low  voice  to  Gregory.  "His 
feet  are  getting  cold  too,  and  he's  one  of  the  best  men 
I  have." 

Keeping*  well  off  the  headland  they  rounded  the 
point  and  turned  shoreward. 

"In  there." 

Johnson  jerked  his  head  in  the  direction  of  a  small 
cove  which  lay  almost  hidden  beneath  the  brow  of  an 
overhanging  cliff. 

"She  lays  just  beyond  that  arch." 

Dickie  ordered  a  halt. 

"Can't  chance  it  in  there  with  the  big  boat.  Throw 
out  the  hook  and  keep  your  motor  warm,  Johnson. 
We  may  have  to  get  out  of  here  in  a  hurry.  Keep  a 
good  eye  on  the  chain  for  if  she  starts  to  drift  you'll 
be  on  the  rocks  before  you  can  snub  her  up.  Put  the 
dory  over,  Tom,  and  we'll  go  ashore  and  take  a  look." 

Under  the  powerful  sweep  of  Tom  Howard's 
oars,  the  small  boat  darted  from  the  shadow  of  the 
launch  and  sped  away  toward  the  cove.  Rounding 
the  natural  arch  by  which  the  point  projected  itself 


DIABLO 


into  the  sea,  they  entered  the  little  cove  which  nestled 
at  the  base  of  the  overhanging  cliff.  Bisecting  the 
cove,  a  rugged  ledge  of  rock  jutted  out  into  the  sea. 
Dickie  shaded  her  eyes  with  her  hand  and  half  rose 
from  her  seat.  Cradled  between  two  jagged  rocks  at 
the  extreme  end  of  the  ledge,  her  bow  angling  sharply, 
her  stern  washed  by  the  lapping  waves,  bruised  and 
broken,  lay  all  that  was  left  of  her  favorite  vessel. 
Only  the  girl's  eyes  mirrored  her  emotion  as  she 
stared  at  the  wreck. 

"Looks  as  if  they  made  a  clean  job  of  it,"  she 
observed  quietly.  "Land  right  in  here,  Tom.  We'll 
climb  up  on  the  ledge  and  walk  over." 

Pulling  the  dory  up  on  the  rocks  they  stumbled 
over  the  slippery  eel-grass  and  approached  the  ill-fated 
craft.  Dickie  Lang  examined  the  hull. 

"Looks  like  Manuel  wasn't  dreaming,  at  that,"  she 
ejaculated,  pointing  to  the  jagged  hole  in  the  Petrel's 
side. 

"Somebody  bumped  him  all  right  and  it  must  have 
been  almost  in  the  cove  or  he  would  never  have  drifted 
in  here." 

The  further  examination  of  the  wreck  went  on  in 
silence.  The  engine  was  half-submerged,  Gregory 
noticed,  and  the  water  poured  from  the  splintered  hull 
and  splashed  to  the  rocks  in  a  series  of  tiny  cataracts. 

"Not  much  of  a  chance  to  save  anything  but  the 
motor  and  the  shaft,"  Dickie  observed.  "And  we'll 
have  to  work  lively  to  do  that  on  this  ebb.  She'll 
break  up  on  the  flood  if  there's  any  sea." 


SALVAGE  103 

As  Howard  jerked  his  head  in  acquiescence  with 
the  girl's  diagnosis,  a  shower  of  loose  rocks  rattled 
from  the  overhanging  cliff.  Dickie  walked  around  the 
Petrel's  bow  and  scrambled  to  the  ledge. 

"Looks  as  if  we  were  going  to  have  company/"  she 
announced,  pointing  in  the  direction  of  the  bluff, 
where  three  men  were  descending  the  trail  to  the 
beach.  Reaching  the  ledge  the  strangers  walked  stead 
ily  toward  the  wreck  and  halted  within  a  few  feet  of 
the  salvage  party.  As  they  jabbered  in  a  French  dia 
lect,  Gregory  listened  intently. 

Dickie's  hand  stole  to  the  pocket  of  her  coat.  The 
men  seemed  bent  on  making  trouble.  It  was  best  to 
take  no  chances.  Her  fingers  sought  the  handle  of  the 
Colt  in  vain.  Cursing  her  negligence  in  leaving  the 
automatic  aboard  the  Pelican,  she  stepped  fonvard  for 
a  parley  with  the  strangers.  Gregory  and  Howard 
placed  themselves  about  her  as  the  men  moved  closer. 

"No  sabe,"  exclaimed  Dickie  Lang.  "What  kind 
of  lingo  are  they  talking  anyway." 

Gregory  was  dividing  his  attention  between  the 
man  with  the  reel  beard  and  the  weasel-faced  stranger 
who  was  gesticulating  so  wildly  with  his  long  arms. 

"Red-beard  says  nobody's  allowed  here,  or  \vords 
to  that  effect,"  he  interpreted.  "Weasel-face  backs 
him  up  in  it  and  says  for  us  to  beat  it." 

"Tell  them  what  we're  here  for.  And  that  when 
we  get  the  boat  stripped  we'll  go,  and  not  before." 

The  red-bearded  man  shook  his  heavy  head  with 
slow  comprehension.  Weasel-face  shuffled  closer,  his 


104  EL  DIABLO 

small  eyes  blinking  malevolently.  The  third  member 
of  the  party,  a  thick-set  man  with  a  face  pitted  by 
scars,  motioned  threateningly  in  the  direction  of  the 
dory. 

Dickie  brushed  forward. 

"I'll  try  them  in  dago,"  she  said. 

Gregory  watched  the  strangers  move  closer  to  their 
leader  as  the  girl  began  to  speak ;  heard  his  low-voiced 
words,  uttered  in  a  harsh  guttural;  saw  his  ami  flash 
out  and  grasp  the  girl  roughly  by  the  shoulder. 

Leaping  forward,  Gregory  found  his  way  blocked 
by  Weasel-face.  The  islander's  hand  was  fumbling 
at  his  belt.  Gregory's  fist  snapped  his  head  backward. 
The  man's  hands  flew  up,  but  not  in  time  to  block  the 
vicious  blow  which  caught  him  full  on  the  chin. 

Weasel-face's  legs  collapsed.  Without  a  sound  he 
fell  in  a  heap  upon  the  rocks.  Holding  Dickie  Lang 
in  his  great  arms,  the  red-bearded  man  saw  his  com 
panion  fall  by  his  side.  With  a  snarl  he  released  the 
struggling  girl  and  shoved  her  from  him.  Before  he 
could  draw  his  knife  Kenneth  Gregory  was  upon  him. 


CHAPTER  XI 

REFUSING  TO  BE  BLUFFED 

TRICKLE  LANG  reeled  backward  as  the  red-bearded 
*^  man  shoved  her  from  him.  She  felt  the  eel- 
grass  slipping  beneath  her  feet.  Striving  vainly  to 
regain  her  balance,  she  turned  cat-like  in  the  air  and 
broke  the  fall  with  her  hands.  As  she  rebounded  to 
her  feet  she  could  see  Gregory  wrestling  with  the  man 
who  had  precipitated  the  attack.  Close  by  his  side, 
Tom  Howard  grappled  with  the  scar-faced  islander. 
The  third  man  lay  huddled  on  the  rocks  where  he  had 
fallen. 

Dickie  decided  at  once  upon  her  course  of  action. 
Gregory  and  Howard  were  holding  their  own  against 
the  two  men.  It  was  up  to  her  to  see  that  the  third 
of  the  islanders  did  not  come  to  the  rescue  of  his 
companions.  The  man  might  regain  consciousness 
at  any  moment.  Then  there  would  be  three  against 
two.  She  remembered  suddenly  that  there  was  rope 
on  the  Petrel.  Better  than  that  there  was  a  rifle.  It 
was  but  a  few  steps  to  the  launch.  She  covered  it 
quickly,  caught  the  main-stay  and  pulled  herself 
aboard. 

105 


io6  EL  DIABLO 

Kenneth  Gregory  realized  at  the  outset  that  he  was 
up  against  a  hard  fight.  In  his  hurry  to  close  with  the 
red-bearded  man,  his  foot  had  slipped  on  the  slimy 
grass  and  he  had  been  forced  to  clinch  to  save  himself 
from  falling.  This  placed  him  at  a  marked  disadvan 
tage.  His  opponent  had  the  best  of  him  in  weight  by 
at  least  twenty  pounds  and  was  heavily  muscled. 
Moreover  he  possessed  a  certain  agility  on  the  grass- 
covered  rocks  which  rendered  any  attempt  on  Greg 
ory's  part  to  force  the  battle,  as  extremely  hazardous. 
The  islander,  at  home  on  the  slippery  footing,  from 
the  start,  became  the  aggressor. 

For  a  time  Gregory  was  content  merely  to  hold 
his  feet  against  Red-beard's  rushes  and  retain  his  hold 
on  the  islander's  knife-arm,  should  he  be  possessed 
of  a  weapon.  Men  of  that  type,  he  reasoned,  were 
usually  short-winded.  In  time  the  heavier  man  would 
exhaust  himself.  Then  his  turn  would  come.  Ahead 
he  noticed  a  clear  space,  free  from  grass.  The  solid 
rock  would  afford  good  footing.  There  he  would  have 
a  better  chance. 

If  the  islander  was  determined  to  crowd,  he  might 
as  well  crowd  in  the  right  direction.  Gregory 
changed  front  slowly,  working  his  body  around  the 
heavier  man,  giving  way  before  his  bull-like  rushes. 
When  he  reached  the  position  he  desired,  he  checked 
his  circling  movement  and  began  to  retreat  steadily. 
Keeping  his  feet  wide  apart,  his  body  carefully  bal 
anced,  he  backed  slowly  in  the  direction  of  the  spot 
where  the  grass  would  no  longer  slip  beneath  his  feet. 


REFUSING  TO  BE  BLUFFED  107 

On  the  other  side  of  the  ledge,  Tom  Howard 
battled  with  the  scar-faced  man.  Of  equal  weight  and 
strength,  the  struggle  resolved  itself  into  a  question  of 
endurance,  as  the  two  men  rolled  over  each  other  on 
the  barnacled  rocks  in  an  effort  to  break  the  other's 
grip  and  strengthen  his  own.  Unconscious  of  their 
surroundings,  their  heads  locked  close  to  their  strain 
ing  bodies,  they  grappled  blindly,  working  closer  to  a 
deep  crevice  which  lay  across  their  path.  For  a  brief 
instant  they  ceased  struggling.  Their  bodies  stiffened. 
With  each  man  seeking  to  pin  the  other  beneath  him 
they  rolled  to  the  crevice  and  dropped  from  view. 

Dickie,  aboard  the  boat,  flashed  a  glance  at  the 
gun-rack.  The  rifle  was  gone.  The  patent-clasp 
which  held  the  weapon  in  place  had  been  wrenched 
free.  Her  eyes  traveled  to  the  empty  provision-locker, 
which  stood  open.  Close  by  it  lay  a  small  monkey- 
wrench  with  which  some  one  had  battered  the  pad 
lock. 

A  wrench  would  be  better  than  nothing.  She 
caught  it  up  and  ran  to  the  deck.  Securing  a  small 
coil  of  rope,  she  jumped  to  the  rocks  and  raced  in  the 
direction  of  the  spot  where  the  weasel-faced  man  had 
fallen. 

As  she  ran  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  Gregory  giving 
way  before  the  red-bearded  man  toward  the  table-like 
surface  of  the  ledge  which  jutted  out  over  the  cove. 
Of  Howard  she  could  see  nothing.  She  stopped  sud- 


io8  EL  DIABLO 

denly  as  she  came  in  view  of  the  spot  where  the  weasel- 
faced  islander  had  sprawled  upon  the  rocks. 
The  man  was  gone. 

Solid  rock  beneath  his  feet  at  last — Red-beard  had 
forced  him  to  the  exact  spot  he  desired  to  reach — 
Gregory's  muscles  contracted  with  a  jerk.  He  stopped 
retreating  and  began  to  slide  around  the  islander.  If 
he  was  successful  in  carrying  out  his  plan  it  was  best 
to  have  Red-beard  on  the  outside  of  the  ledge. 

Divining  his  purpose,  the  big  man  stiffened  as  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  sea  over  his  shoulder.  Strain 
ing  closer  to  each  other's  throbbing  bodies,  the  two 
men  redoubled  their  efforts  to  twist  the  other  to  the 
outside.  Red-beard's  breath  began  to  come  in  gasps. 
He  opened  his  mouth  and  sucked  in  the  air  feverishly. 
His  corded  muscles  were  beginning  to  relax.  Greg 
ory's  feet  shot  under  the  islander's  legs  and  the  big 
man  narrowly  escaped  falling.  When  he  regained  his 
balance  he  could  not  see  the  water.  The  cool  air  from 
the  sea  which  had  been  blowing  in  his  face  now  stirred 
the  thick  hair  which  covered  his  neck.  He  was  on  the 
outside  of  the  ledge  overlooking  the  cove. 

Before  he  could  recover  from  his  surprise,  Red- 
beard  felt  the  fingers  on  his  arm  relax.  His  opponent 
wriggled  in  his  arms,  stiffened  and  crushed  against 
him.  As  the  big  man  fought  to  regain  his  balance, 
Gregory  freed  an  arm  and  his  fist  flashed  to  the 
islander's  ear.  Red-beard  grunted  for  breath.  Again 
the  rigidly  flexed  forearm  cut  under  his  guard  and 


REFUSING  TO  BE  BLUFFED  109 

landed  on  his  hairy  chin.  As  he  raised  his  big  arms 
to  protect  his  head,  his  antagonist  twisted  free. 

Ducking  tinder  the  clumsy  fist  which  beat  the  air 
above  his  head,  Gregory  swung  again  for  the  islander's 
chin.  With  a  snarl  of  rage,  the  big  man  lowered  his 
head.  Then  his  angry  growl  changed  quickly  to  a 
grunt  of  pain  as  he  took  the  blow  full  in  the  forehead. 
Reeling  dizzily,  his  hand  sought  his  girdle.  His 
fingers  closed  on  the  hilt  of  his  knife  and  jerked  it 
free. 

Gregory  hurled  himself  forward  at  the  sight  of 
the  steel.  Grasping  the  uplifted  arm  he  wrrenched  it 
inward,  twisting  the  man  half  around.  Surprised  at 
the  suddenness  of  the  move,  the  islander  gave  way  in 
a  series  of  staggering  steps  which  carried  him  to  the 
edge  of  the  rock  ledge  overlooking  the  water. 

Retaining  his  hold  on  the  red-bearded  man's  wrist, 
Gregory  struck  with  all  his  force  at  the  bulging  chest. 
As  the  blow  landed  he  felt  the  body  crumple  i'n  his 
arms  and  the  knife  clattered  to  the  rocks.  The  islander 
staggered  backward  with  his  assailant  pressing  close 
against  him.  In  their  struggle  both  men  had  for  the 
moment  forgotten  the  overhanging  ledge. 

Gregory  remembered  it  too  late.  Red-beard's  arms 
were  still  about  him.  Suddenly  he  felt  the  dead 
weight  of  the  islander's  body.  As  he  strove  to  break 
the  man's  hold  he  tottered  on  the  brink  of  the  ledge. 
He  felt  himself  befog  dragged  downward.  Before  his 
eyes  flashed  the  rock-dappled  waters  of  the  cove.  His 
only  chance  lay  in  clearing  the  rocks  below.  His 


no  EL  DIABLO 

knees  straightened  with  a  jerk.  Shoving  his  body 
outward,  he  plunged  over  the  ledge  with  the  islander 
clinging  to  him. 

The  warning  scream  died  on  Dickie  Lang's  lips 
as  she  ran  toward  them.  Checking  her  steps  on  the 
edge  of  the  rocks  overlooking  the  water,  she  stared  at 
the  ever-widening  circles  which  rippled  the  water  and 
the  jagged  rocks  which  shone  ominously  dark  beneath 
the  surface.  She  followed  the  center  of  the  ripples 
mechanically.  Thank  God,  they  had  hit  in  a  clear 
spot.  But  what  chance  would  a  man  have  throttled 
like  that  by  another? 

The  cool  rush  of  air  on  his  throbbing  face  gave 
place  to  a  cooler  one  as  the  waters  closed  over  Kenneth 
Gregory's  head.  He  felt  his  body  sinking  like  a  stone. 
The  arms  about  his  body  tightened.  The  blood 
pounded  to  his  brain.  To  his  mind  flashed  stories  of 
swimmers  who  had  been  drowned  by  women  with  the 
fatal  strangle-hold.  He  realized  sharply  that  he  was 
held  by  no  woman,  but  a  red-bearded  giant,  insane 
through  fear,  incapable  of  reason.  Whatever  he  did 
must  be  done  at  once. 

With  an  effort  which  left  his  lungs  pressing  hard 
against  his  ribs  he  freed  an  arm  and  worked  it  upward 
until  he  felt  the  matted  hair  of  the  islander's  beard. 
From  there  it  was  only  a  span  to  the  throat.  That  was 
what  he  must  reach.  The  throat.  The  words  raced 
through  his  brain.  The  throat.  He  must  shut  down 
on  that  and  hang.  His  groping  fingers  searched  for 
the  elusive  organ.  Perhaps  Red-beard  had  no  throat. 


Both  men  had  forgotten  the  overhanging  ledge 


REFUSING  TO  BE  BLUFFED  1 1 1 

The  grotesqueness  of  the  idea  caused  him  to  want  to 
laugh.  It  didn't  matter  much  after  all.  Not  when  .  . 
There  it  was.  He  had  found  it  at  last.  His  fingers 
stiffened  and  slid  on  the  slippery  flesh.  Then  they 
fastened,  tightened  and  hung. 

Good  God,  would  they  never  come  up?  Dickie 
searched  the  faintly  dimpled  waters  from  her  com 
manding  elevation,  but  her  closest  scrutiny  revealed 
no  sign  of  the  men  beneath  the  surface.  Kenneth 
Gregory  was  drowned  as  his  father  had  been  drowned 
at  Diablo.  So  intent  was  the  girl  upon  her  examina- 
ion  of  the  water  that  she  failed  to  see  a  limping  figure 
emerge  cautiously  from  behind  a  pile  of  rocks  and 
drop  into  a  near-by  crevice. 

Under  the  steady  pressure  of  his  fingers,  Gregory 
felt  the  body  of  the  islander  relax.  Then  he  became 
conscious  in  a  vague  sort  of  way,  of  movement.  They 
were  rising  to  the  surface  or  sinking  lower  to  the 
bottom.  Why  couldn't  he  tell  which?  He  freed  his 
legs  from  the  inert  form  which  twined  itself  about 
him,  and  kicked  weakly.  The  red-bearded  man  slipped 
from  him  at  the  effort  and  he  narrowly  escaped  losing 
his  hold  upon  his  throat.  He  kicked  again.  If  he 
could  only  get  one  gulp  of  air  he  could  make  it.  In 
spite  of  the  ever-increasing  pressure  on  his  lungs  he 
found  himself  getting  sleepy.  He  was  tired,  worn 
out.  If  he  could  only  fill  his  lungs  with  something 
to  stop  that  dull  pain,  he  could  go  to  sleep  and  rest. 


H2  EL  DIABLO 

Dickie  Lang  saw  the  dark  blot  of  the  two  figures 
as  they  neared  the  surface.  Then  she  thought  of  the 
rope  in  her  hand.  She  could  weigh  it  with  the 
wrench  and  throw  it  from  where  she  stood.  Uncoiling 
it  hastily,  she  measured  the  distance.  Too  far,  she 
realized  bitterly.  She  looked  to  the  water's  edge. 
The  distance  would  be  shorter  from  there.  Shoving 
the  wrench  into  her  pocket  and  throwing  the  rope 
loosely  about  her  neck,  she  crawled  over  the  ledge  and 
climbed  downward. 

The  ledge  dipped  sharply  under  the  overhanging 
surface  and  extended  shoreward  in  a  narrow  shelf, 
carpeted  by  kelp  and  washed  by  the  sea.  Around  that 
big  boulder  would  be  the  best  place.  From  there  she 
could  throw  the  rope  to  good  advantage.  She  was 
about  to  shout  encouragement  when  she  heard  the 
sharp  splash  of  a  stone  falling  into  the  water  from  the 
cliff.  Shrinking  closer  to  the  rocks,  she  listened.  Then 
crept  silently  on. 

Air  to  breathe  at  last!  Gregory  lay  passive  on  the 
surface,  content  to  gulp  it  in  in  huge  mouthfuls. 
Nothing  else  mattered  now.  His  head  throbbed  pain 
fully  and  his  eyeballs  burned  in  their  sockets.  But 
he  had  air.  And  that  was  enough.  As  the  pressure 
of  blood  on  his  brain  lessened,  he  became  conscious  of 
the  fact  that  he  was  still  gripping  the  islander's  throat 
He  released  his  fingers  and  the  big  head  tilted  forward 
until  it  rested  face  down  on  the  water.  With  a  start 


REFUSING  TO  BE  BLUFFED  1 1 3 

Gregory  realized  that  the  air  had  come  too  late  for 
Red-beard.    He  must  get  the  man  ashore  at  once. 

He  turned  his  head  slowly  and  saw  the  rock  ledge 
only  a  few  feet  away.  By  that  big  overhanging 
boulder  would  be  the  place  to  land.  There  he  could 
crawl  up  on  the  soft  kelp  and  rest.  Rolling  the  uncon 
scious  man  to  his  back,  he  swam  slowly  for  the  ledge. 

Dickie  reached  the  base  of  the  projecting  rock  and 
wedging  her  slender  body  into  a  small  fissure,  peered 
cautiously  through  the  cleft.  So  close  that  she  could 
almost  touch  him,  alert  and  motionless,  stood  the 
weasel-faced  man.  His  small  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
the  water.  The  hand  which  was  nearest  her  held  a 
knife. 

Wriggling  from  the  crevice  she  hastily  retraced 
her  steps.  No  use  trying  to  squeeze  through  there. 
She  would  be  in  full  view  before  she  would  have  a 
chance.  Flashing  a  glance  at  the  rugged  surface  of 
the  boulder,  she  began  to  climb. 

It  was  farther  to  the  ledge  than  he  thought. 
Something  was  the  matter  wTith  his  legs.  His  arms 
had  no  strength.  They  had  almost  ceased  to  function. 
A  sharp  pain  gripped  his  side  and  tore  downward 
through  his  body.  Still  Gregory  swam  on.  In 
another  moment  he  could  reach  out  and  grip  the  kelp 
with  his  hand.  He  closed  his  eyes  and  swam  mechan 
ically.  At  length  his  extended  fingers  touched  the 
sea-grass  which  fringed  the  ledge.  Twining  them  eag- 


Ii4  EL  DIABLO 

erly  about  it,  he  pulled  his  aching  body  closer  and 
rested,  clinging  to  the  rocks. 

Hand  over  hand  Dickie  Lang  crawled  upward  and 
outward  until  she  could  see  the  water  lapping  at  the 
ledge  beneath.  From  her  vantage  point  she  could  see 
Gregory  swimming  on  with  closed  eyes  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  rocks.  His  limbs  were  moving  slowly  and 
his  face  was  drawn  with  pain.  Still  he  floundered  on. 
Straight  for  the  kelp-covered  ledge — and  Weasel-face. 

A  sharp  turn  in  the  rocky  pathway  put  the  man  in 
full  view,  only  a  few  feet  below.  Sheltered  from  sight 
of  the  struggling  figure  in  the  water,  he  waited  in 
silence. 

If  she  called  out  to  warn  Gregory  to  seek  a  new 
landing-place  it  was  doubtful  if  he  could  make  the 
beach  in  his  exhausted  condition.  Such  a  course,  too, 
would  make  her  presence  known  to  the  hatchet-faced 
man  who  as  yet  had  not  observed  her.  No,  it  was 
better  to  take  the  man  unawares.  She  thought  of  the 
rope.  Perhaps  she  could  loop  it  over  his  head.  She 
gave  up  the  idea  at  once.  It  could  only  fail.  Jamming 
her  hands  into  her  pockets,  her  fingers  closed  on  the 
wrench.  She  jerked  it  out  and  balanced  it  in  her 
hand.  A  feeling  of  confidence  surged  over  her.  She 
couldn't  miss  him  from  where  she  stood.  Her  pas 
time  of  flinging  stones  at  the  gulls  when  a  child  would 
stand  her  in  good  stead  now.  If  the  man  looked  up, 
she  would  throw  before  he  could  recover  from  his  sur 
prise. 


REFUSING  TO  BE  BLUFFED  115 

Dragging  his  tired  body  wearily  from  the  water, 
Gregory  pulled  his  unconscious  companion  after  him. 
As  he  stretched  the  islander  at  full  length  on  the  soft 
kelp  and  knelt  over  him,  he  caught  sight  of  a  man's 
foot  protruding  from  behind  a  rock. 

Gregory  stumbled  to  his  feet.  At  the  same  instant 
he  heard  the  sound  of  a  muffled  blow.  A  small 
wrench  clattered  to  the  rocks  and  fell  with  a  splash  into 
a  pool  of  water. 

"I  knew  I  could  get  him,"  a  girlish  voice  called 
from  above.  Dickie  Lang  jumped  down  with  shining 
eyes  and  made  her  way  toward  him.  "Buck  up,"  he 
heard  her  say.  But  the  voice  trailed  away  into  silence. 

When  he  regained  consciousness,  the  girl  was 
bending  over  him,  rubbing  his  numbed  limbs  and 
slapping  his  cold  flesh  violently. 

"You'll  be  all  right  in  a  minute,"  she  said.  "Don't 
try  to  talk  now.  Lie  still  and  rest.  Feel  better?" 

He  nodded.  As  he  moved  his  head  he  noticed  the 
two  figures  lying  close  beside  him.  Noting  the  ques 
tioning  look  in  his  eyes,  Dickie  explained : 

"They're  all  right  or  will  be  in  a  little  while.  I'm 
looking  after  them.  When  they  come  to,  I'm  going  to 
tie  them  up."  She  flourished  a  small  coil  of  rope. 

As  his  strength  returned  Gregory  began  to  pick 
up  the  loose  threads.  "Howard?"  he  asked. 

She  shook  her  head.  "Don't  know  where  he  is. 
Couldn't  see  him.  Don't  worry.  Chances  are  he's  all 
right.  He's  hard  as  nails.  When  you  can  walk  we'll 
go  and  look  for  him." 


u6  EL  DIABLO 

They  found  the  fisherman  huddled  against  the 
rocks  at  the  bottom  of  the  small  crevice.  Close  by 
his  side  lay  the  scar-faced  islander.  Both  men  were 
UnconsciouSo 

Gregory  examined  Howard  carefully. 

"His  leg  is  broken,"  he  announced.  "And  he's 
pretty  well  bruised  up.  He  must  have  got  an  awful 
jolt  when  he  fell  on  these  rocks."  Jumping  up,  he 
exclaimed :  "I'll  go  and  get  something  for  splints," 
he  said.  "Make  him  as  comfortable  as  you  can." 

When  he  returned  Dickie  noticed  he  carried  a  heavy 
oar  which  he  had  fashioned  into  a  rude  crutch,  a  num 
ber  of  small  strips  of  wood  and  a  piece  of  an  old 
blanket. 

"Found  them  on  the  Petrel"  he  said  as  he  set  to 
work. 

Dickie  assisted  Gregory  in  caring  for  the  wounded 
man.  Her  respect  for  the  young  man  increased  as  she 
noted  the  skilful  manner  with  which  he  worked. 
Soon  Howard's  leg  was  set  and  after  a  time  he  opened 
his  eyes  and  slowly  regained  consciousness.  The  sun 
was  high  overhead  when  they  were  able  to  move  the 
injured  men.  While  Howard  rested  for  a  moment  on 
the  ledge,  Gregory  carried  the  unconscious  form  of 
the  other  man  to  the  soft  sea-grass  and  stretched  him 
at  full  length.  Then  he  thought  of  the  two  men  they 
had  left  on  the  narrow  shelf  by  the  sea. 

"I'd  better  have  a  look  at  Red-beard  and  the  other 
fellow,"  he  said  suddenly.  "The  water  might  come  in 
there  and  wash  them  off." 


REFUSING  TO  BE  BLUFFED  117 

Dickie  nodded.  "I'll  stay  here,"  she  said,  and 
Gregory  hurried  off. 

When  he  came  back  he  shook  his  head.  "Gone," 
he  announced. 

"Washed  off?" 

"Don't  think  so.  The  water  hadn't  quite  got  to 
where  we  left  them.  I  guess  they  sneaked." 

Dickie's  eyes  searched  the  sea  while  he  spoke. 

"I  can't  understand  what  is  keeping  the  boys  from 
the  Curlew"  she  said.  "We'd  better  get  Tom  aboard 
the  Petrel  where  we  can  make  him  more  comfortable. 
Better  bring  the  other  fellow  too.  There's  some 
whisky  on  the  boat  unless  those  devils  have  stolen  it 
too.  Hello,  what's  that?" 

The  quiet  was  broken  by  the  sharp  clatter  of 
horses'  hoofs.  Looking  in  the  direction  of  the  sound, 
Gregory  saw  a  number  of  horsemen  riding  over  the 
crest  of  the  bluff  overlooking  the  cove. 

The  fisherman  glanced  toward  the  dory  which  lay 
on  the  rocks  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  ledge. 

"Better  beat  it,"  he  suggested. 

Dickie  Lang  shook  her  head  stubbornly.  "No," 
she  said.  "We'll  leave  that  man  here  and  the  rest  of 
us  will  get  aboard.  The  Petrel's  on  tide  land  and  I'll 
be  damned  if  any  one's  going  to  bluff  me  out." 


CHAPTER  XII 

A   WARNING 

T^ROM  the  Petrel's  sloping  deck  they  saw  the  horse 
men  appear  in  bold  silhouette  against  the  sky-line. 
Swinging  from  their  saddles  they  walked  to  meet  a 
white-shirted  rider  who  galloped  over  the  ridge  and 
drew  rein  among  them. 

The  newcomer  remained  astride  his  horse.  Rest 
ing  an  arm  on  the  horn  of  his  saddle,  he  stared  into 
the  little  cove  through  his  binoculars.  Satisfied  appar 
ently  by  what  he  saw,  he  dismounted  and  walked 
rapidly  toward  the  trail  leading  to  the  beach,  the  men 
following  after  him.  As  they  took  their  way  down 
the  cliff  Gregory  noticed  that  some  of  the  men  carried 
rifles.  When  they  reached  the  beach  the  white-shirted 
man  walked  on  alone,  and  without  a  backward  glance, 
traversed  the  rocks  in  the  direction  of  the  wreck. 

"He  walks  like  a  king,"  commented  Dickie  Lang. 
"I  wonder  if  that  is  Bandrist." 

Gregory  noted  the  clean-cut  figure  of  the  stranger 
carefully.  The  man  was  about  his  own  height  though 
of  slighter  build,  the  spareness  of  his  figure  being 
emphasized  by  the  close-fitting  riding'-trousers  and 
the  thin  silk  shirt  which  fluttered  about  him  as  he 

118 


A  WARNING  119 

strode  along.  The  fair-haired  stranger  stopped 
abruptly  when  he  reached  the  Petrel's  side.  Flinging 
an  arm  upward  with  a  careless  gesture,  and  looking 
straight  at  the  girl,  he  said  quietly : 

"I  am  unarmed.    May  I  come  aboard  your  vessel?" 

Only  the  slightest  trace  of  the  foreigner  was  dis 
cernible  in  his  speech. 

Dickie  Lang  nodded.  "Come  ahead,"  she  said. 
"Whoever  you  are,  you  can  speak  English  at  least." 

The  visitor  smiled  as  he  caught  the  mast-stay  and 
drew  himself  gracefully  over  the  rail. 

"I  am  Leo  Bandrist,"  he  introduced.  "I  fear  my 
men  have  caused  you  some  annoyance.  I  am  sorry." 

Dickie  rehearsed  the  incidents  leading  up  to  the 
trouble  with  the  natives  and  when  she  had  concluded, 
Bandrist's  forehead  wrinkled  in  a  frown. 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  he  repeated.  "My  men,  you 
see,  are  very  stupid.  Very  ignorant.  They  under 
stand  but  little  English.  Then,  too,  I  have  been 
annoyed  by  others.  You  see,  I  have  many  sheep  and 
wild  goats  upon  the  island.  Hunters  come  to  shoot 
the  goats,  but  they  often  mistake  my  sheep  for  them. 
Fishermen  also  have  caused  me  great  trouble.  I  have 
fenced  my  lands  to  keep  them  out ;  put  up  the  signs  the 
law  tells  me  I  must  to  protect  myself.  But  no,  they 
disregard  my  rights.  So  I  give  my  men  instructions 
to  keep  them  out.  Wrhen  my  rangers  are  opposed  they 
grow  ugly.  One  of  them  tells  me  that  one  of  your 
number  began  the  attack.  That  angered  them,  you 
see,  and  they  fought  back.  It  was  but  natural.  How- 


122  EL  DIABLO 

start  in.  The  boys  from  the  Curlew  ought  to  have 
been  here  long  before  this." 

Gregory  pressed  forward.  "Tell  me  what  to  do," 
he  said. 

The  girl  regarded  him  approvingly.  "You  can 
loosen  the  stud-bolts  on  the  motor  first.  Come  on," 
she  said.  "I'll  show  you." 

Bandrist  followed  after  them.  "May  I  help?"  he 
asked. 

She  shook  her  head  with  decision.  "Two's  as 
many  as  can  conveniently  wrork  around  the  engine," 
she  answered. 

The  work  of  tearing  down  the  motor  began  at 
once.  Gregory  wore  the  skin  from  his  knuckles  in 
loosening  the  stud-bolts  while  Howard  instructed  him 
from  the  doorway  how  to  take  off  the  carburetor  and 
rip  up  the  feed-line.  As  they  worked  the  girl  made  a 
rapid  survey  of  the  parts  she  desired  to  salvage. 

"Some  more  of  your  friends?" 

Bandrist  pointed  seaward  where  a  dory  \vas 
rounding  the  point  and  heading  shoreward. 

The  girl  acknowledged  his  words  with  a  curt  nod. 

"Here  come  the  boys  from  the  Curlew,"  she 
announced. 

When  the  landing  party  reached  the  Petrel's  side, 
Jones  and  Sorenson  stared  in  silence  at  the  white- 
shirted  man  leaning  against  the  rail. 

"Got  things  fixed  up,  Jones?  You  were  a  long 
time  coming." 

The  skipper  of  the  Curlew  climbed  aboard  before 


A  WARNING  123 

replying.  Drawing  the  girl  to  one  side,  he  said 
quietly:  "Thing's  pretty  well  shot,  miss.  Took  her 
down  and  found  this." 

He  extended  a  blackened  handkerchief  covered 
with  fine  dust.  Dickie  Lang  examined  it  carefully, 
rubbing  the  particles  of  black  grit  between  her  fingers. 

"Emery  dust?" 

Jones  nodded.  "She's  full  of  it,"  he  answered. 
"Don't  dare  and  start  her  up.  She'd  cut  herself  to 
pieces." 

Silently  regarding  the  blackened  particles,  the  girl 
asked :  "Carlin  was  with  you  yesterday  you  said, 
didn't  you?" 

"Yes.     Him  and  Jacobs." 

"Carlin's  enough.  I  knew7  he  wras  a  dub.  But  I 
didn't  think  he  had  brains  enough  to  be  a  crook.  I 
know  now.  Well,  we've  got  enough  trouble  right  here 
for  a  while  without  bothering  about  your  boat.  You 
rip  up  the  motor  and  Sorenson  and  Mr.  Gregory  can 
strip  the  deck.  We've  got  to  hustle.  It  will  begin  to 
rough  up  soon.  Then  we'll  have  to  run  with  what  we 
have.  She'll  break  up  on  the  flood  by  the  looks  of 
things." 

Pausing  for  a  moment  to  partake  of  a  meager  lunch 
which  Dickie  discovered  had  been  overlooked  by  the 
robber  of  the  Petrel,  all  hands  turned  again  to  the  work 
of  salvaging  the  motor. 

Through  the  long  afternoon  they  worked  in 
silence.  As  Gregory  stripped  the  iron  chaulks  from  the 
deck  and  removed  the  stays,  he  noticed  that  Bandrist 


124  EL  DIABLO 

leaned  idly  against  the  rail  with  his  blue  eyes  following 
the  movements  of  Dickie  Lang  with  great  interest. 
Once,  before  Gregory  could  surmise  his  purpose,  he 
sprang  to  the  girl's  side  and  assisted  her  with  a  piece 
of  shaft  and  the  ease  with  which  he  handled  the  heavy 
brass  caused  the  young  man  to  marvel. 

A  queer  specimen  of  man  was  Bandrist,  he 
reflected,  to  be  marooned  in  such  a  spot  as  this. 
Gregory's  work  gave  him  a  chance  to  study  the  islander 
without  being  observed.  He  was  a  figure  who  merited 
more  than  a  passing  glance.  He  would  challenge  atten 
tion  in  any  environment.  While  he  twisted  the  gal 
vanized  turn-buckles,  rusted  by  the  salt-air,  Gregory 
appraised  the  man  carefully. 

Trained  to  the  minute  and  hard  as  nails,  he  cata 
logued  the  slender  figure.  The  long  smooth-lying 
muscles  were  those  of  an  athlete.  He  could  see  them 
rippling  at  the  open-throat  and  on  the  islander's  wrist 
when  he  raised  his  arm.  The  features  too  were 
worthy  of  notice.  Line  by  line  he  studied  them.  From 
the  high  forehead  which  bulged  over  the  clear  blue 
eyes,  to  the  delicately  ovaled  chin.  The  face  was 
emotionless.  Only  the  curve  of  the  thin  lips  showed 
the  man  beneath  the  mask.  The  lips  were  cruel  as 
death. 

The  tall  crags  cast  their  irregular  shadows  athwart 
the  cove  and  a  sudden  puff  of  wind,  which  had  fresh 
ened  as  the  day  wore  on,  ruffled  the  quiet  waters  and 
caused  them  to  slap  angrily  at  the  base  of  the  ledge. 


A  WARNING  125 

Dickie  Lang  cast  a  weather-eye  to  seaward  and  shook 
her  head. 

"Time  we  were  getting  in  the  clear,  boys,"  she  said. 
"The  tide's  beginning  to  set  in  strong  and  the  breeze 
is  freshening.  We've  got  about  all  we  dare  fool  with. 
I  want  to  get  clear  of  the  Diablo  coast  before  the  fog 
drifts  any  closer." 

The  fishermen  issued  from  the  engine-house  at  her 
words  and  began  to  gather  up  the  parts  of  the  dissem 
bled  motor  and  carry  them  to  the  waiting  skiffs.  Then 
they  assisted  Howard  to  the  dory.  In  a  few  moments 
they  were  ready  to  shove  off.  Dickie  stepped  into  the 
dory  of  the  Pelican  which  Jones  shoved  into  the  water. 

"I  want  to  get  Tom  to  the  launch  and  have  her 
ready  to  get  under  way,"  she  explained  to  Gregory. 
"Will  you  stay  and  help  Sorenson  load  the  rest  of  the 
motor?" 

Gregory  nodded  and  set  to  work.  Bandrist's  eyes 
followed  the  departing  skiff  until  it  disappeared  around 
the  point.  Then  he  motioned  Gregory  to  one  side  and 
began  to  speak  :  "Do  not  let  her  come  out  here  again," 
he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "Diablo  is  not  a  safe  place  for 
fishermen,  much  less  a  woman.  My  men  will  not 
forget  you.  I  was  able  to  control  them  to-day.  The 
next  time  I  might  not  be  so  fortunate." 

However  well  meant  the  warning  might  have  been, 
it  rankled  in  Gregory's  breast.  He  felt  his  instinctive 
dislike  of  Bandrist  grow  with  the  man's  words.  Meet 
ing  the  islander's  eyes  squarely,  he  said  in  a  voice 
which  only  Bandrist  could  hear: 


126  EL  DIABLO 

"If  it  is  necessary  for  us  to  come  to  Diablo  again, 
Mr.  Bandrist,  we  will  come.  If  you  are  unable  to 
handle  your  men,  that  will  be  up  to  you." 

For  a  moment  the  two  men  appraised  each  other  in 
silence.  Then  Gregory  turned  and  walked  to  the 
waiting  dory. 

In  the  purpling  dusk  they  embarked  from  Diablo 
and  sped  across  the  rippling  water  to  the  launch  which 
lay  in  the  offing.  Looking  back  from  the  stern-seat, 
Gregory  saw  the  man  on  the  ledge  gazing  after  them 
with  folded  arms. 

On  the  deck  of  the  Pelican  the  girl  was  issuing 
hasty  orders  for  the  return  to  the  mainland. 

"Kick  her  over,  Jones.  Johnson,  stand  by  the 
hook.  Here  comes  the  other  skiff.  Get  your  stuff 
aboard,  Sorenson,  as  quick  as  you  can,"  she  called  to 
the  approaching  dory,  "and  swing  the  boat  on  deck. 
We'll  beat  it  out  of  here  and  take  the  Curlew  in  tow. 
Make  it  lively,  boys.  We've  got  to  be  under  way." 

Swinging  wide  of  the  headland  the  Pelican 
plunged  into  the  trough  of  the  swell  and  skirting  the 
coast  raced  on  to  pick  up  the  disabled  Curlew.  Dickie 
Lang  looked  back  at  the  dim  outline  of  the  cliffs  as 
they  shadowed  the  sea. 

"Poor  little  Pete"  she  exclaimed  softly.  "It's 
tough.  But  it  can't  be  helped." 

Gregory  alone  heard  her  words. 

"It  sure  is,"  he  said,  feeling  that  the  words  were 
wholly  inadequate.  "And  I'm  mighty  sorry,"  he 
added. 


A  WARNING  127 

The  girl  started.  "I  guess  I  was  thinking  aloud," 
she  said.  "I  didn't  know  you  heard."  She  set  her 
lips  together.  "It's  all  in  the  game,  I  know,"  she 
went  on,  "but  no  one  but  me  knows  how  I  hate  to  lose 
the  little  Petrel" 

When  they  picked  up  the  Curlew  the  fitful  wind 
died  suddenly  and  the  air  grew  heavy  with  moisture. 
The  white  clouds  which  scurried  across  the  face  of  the 
heavens  dropped  lower  and  massing  themselves 
together  obscured  the  stars.  Piloting  the  Pelican  and 
her  tow  safely  to  the  high  seas,  the  girl  relinquished 
the  wheel  to  Johnson  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"I'll  rustle  something  to  eat,  Bill,"  she  said. 
"We'll  stand  two-hour  watches.  I'll  take  her  next. 
I  want  to  see  if  there  is  anything  I  can  do  for  Tom. 
I'll  be  in  the  cabin.  Call  me  if  you  sight  anything  or 
it  gets  thicker." 

Turning  to  Gregory,  she  exclaimed :  "The  next 
thing  is  to  eat.  I'm  starved  myself,  and  I'll  bet  you're 
worse." 

Repairing  to  the  cabin  where  the  big  fisherman 
was  already  asleep  on  the  bunk,  they  ate  their  first 
real  meal  of  the  day  in  silence.  There  was  much  that 
they  could  have  talked  about,  but  one  does  not  follow 
the  sea  long  without  learning  that  opportunities  to  eat 
are  sometimes  golden,  and  not  lightly  to  be  passed 
over  or  interfered  with  by  conversation.  It  was  not 
until  the  last  morsel  of  food  had  been  consumed,  there 
fore,  that  Gregory  made  an  effort  to  voice  his 
thoughts. 


128  EL  DIABLO 

"What  do  you  think  of  Bandrist?"  he  asked  sud 
denly. 

The  girl  started,  surprised  that  they  should  both 
be  thinking  of  the  same  man.  Her  forehead  wrinkled 
slowly  as  she  answered : 

"I  think  he's  a  crook.  I  don't  know  why  exactly, 
but  I  just  do.  He's  too  smooth.  Too  well  educated 
for  a  sheep-man.  He's  up  to  something  at  Diablo. 
Don't  know  what.  Don't  know  that  it  is  any  of  my 
business  at  that.  But  I  don't  like  him." 

"Neither  do  I,"  Gregory  admitted.  "I  sized  him 
up  as  a  mighty  clever  man.  He  has  a  hard  outfit  out 
there  and  he  pretends  he  can't  control  them.  That's 
the  bunk.  Did  you  notice  how  they  took  orders  from 
him  without  even  talking  back?" 

"Yes.  And  he  had  most  of  them  armed.  With 
orders  to  keep  people  off  of  the  island.  Why?"  she 
asked  suddenly.  "I  don't  believe  it's  on  account  of 
the  sheep." 

Gregory  shook  his  head  emphatically. 

"That  was  bunk  too,"  he  said.  "They  knew  we 
were  not  trying  to  hunt.  I  suppose  they  did  get  pretty 
sore  when  we  roughed  it  with  them,  but  that  didn't  give 
them  any  license  to  pull  their  knives  and  try  to  carve 
us  up.  That  crazy  fool  would  have  had  me  in  another 
minute  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you." 

Dickie  sought  to  minimize  her  part  in  the  affair. 

"I  didn't  do  much,"  she  said.  "I  was  just  lucky. 
You  did  all  of  the  hard  work.  I  thought  you  were 
never  coming  up." 


A  WARNING  129 

"You  were  dead  game,"  Gregory  cut  in.  "You 
saved  me  from  that  fellow's  knife  and  you  know  it." 

Dickie  Lang  made  no  reply  but  sat  with  her  arms 
resting  on  the  cabin-table,  looking  off  into  space. 
Again  she  saw  herself  huddled  against  the  rocks,  look 
ing  down  into  the  sunlit  water  of  the  cove,  waiting  for 
the  men  to  come  to  the  surface.  What  a  fight  Gregory 
must  have  had  to  have  freed  himself  from  that 
strangle-hold  and  save  the  life  of  the  other  man  as 
well  as  his  own.  How  skilfully  he  had  \vorked  over 
Howard.  He  seemed  to  know  just  what  to  do.  She 
raised  her  head  sharply.  Not  given  to  living  in  the 
past,  she  wondered  why  her  mind  had  gone  wool-gath 
ering.  Perhaps  it  was  because  she  was  beginning  to 
realize  that  this  man  was  a  man  among  men.  And 
real  men  were  scarce.  He  was  speaking  again. 

"There's  something  wrong  at  Diablo.  I'd  give  a 
lot  to  find  out  what  it  is." 

"It  would  cost  a  lot,"  she  answered  soberly.  "And 
what  business  is  it  of  ours?  Dad  used  to  say  that 
monkeying  with  other  people's  affairs  was  a  luxury  he 
never  could  afford." 

"But  if  they  interfere  with  fishing,  it  is  some  of  our 
business." 

"Yes,  but  do  they?" 

"I  don't  know.  That  is,  not  yet,"  he  was  forced 
to  admit. 

"Neither  do  I.  Until  I  do,  I'm  not  looking  for  any 
more  trouble  than  I  can  see  ahead  right  now." 

Silence  for  several  moments.    Then,  from  the  girl : 


130  EL  DIABLO 

"Besides,  you  couldn't  find  out  anything.  The 
fishermen  are  scared  stiff  of  Diablo  as  it  is.  When 
this  gets  around,  they'll  be  even  worse.  They're  not 
looking  for  more  excitement.  They  have  enough." 

To  Gregory's  mind  recurred  his  plan  of  manning 
the  girl's  boats.  Here  was  an  opportunity  to  justify 
it. 

"The  bunch  I'm  figuring  on  wouldn't  be  afraid  of 
it,"  he  said.  "In  fact  I  think  they  would  kind  of  enjoy 
finding  out." 

Dickie  smiled.  "Aren't  you  speaking  two  words 
for  yourself?"  she  asked. 

He  smiled  too.  "I'll  admit  I  have  some  curiosity/' 
he  answered. 

The  girl  laughed.  "You've  got  into  the  habit  of 
fighting,"  she  retorted.  "But  the  war  is  over  now." 

"Maybe  you're  right.  But  at  Legonia  I've  an  idea 
it  has  just  begun." 

It  was  just  what  she  would  have  had  him  say. 
What  she  would  have  said  herself  if  she  had  spoken 
her  mind.  She  liked  a  man  who  wasn't  afraid. 
They  were  the  kind  one  could  tie  to.  Gregory's  pro 
posal  again  assailed  her.  It  had  its  advantages.  She 
would  think  it  over  while  she  was  at  the  wheel. 

"Boat  off  starboard  quarter,"  a  gruff  voice 
announced  from  the  doorway. 

Dickie  Lang  sprang  to  her  feet  and  hurried  on 
'deck  with  Gregory  following  close  behind.  From  the 
gray  gloom  came  the  sharp  exhaust  of  a  high-powered 
motor,  running  at  top  speed.  As  they  looked  in  the 


A  WARNING  131 

direction  of  the  sound,  which  was  fast  changing  to 
an  angry  roar,  the  shifting  wall  of  filmy  fog  was 
pierced  by  a  flash  of  green. 

"Mascola!" 

Gregory  was  barely  able  to  catch  the  girl's  words 
above  the  uproar  of  the  gatlin-like  exhaust.  The  next 
instant  the  green  light  flashed  by  and  was  swallowed 
up  in  the  gloom. 

"I  wonder  what  he's  doing  out  here  running  like 
that  ?"  Dickie  mused. 

"How  do  you  know  who  it  was?" 

She  laughed.  "There's  only  one  boat  anywhere 
around  here  with  an  exhaust  like  that,"  she  answered. 
'That's  the  Fuor  d' Italia.  She's  the  fastest  craft  in 
southern  waters  of  her  kind.  And  no  one  ever  runs 
her  but  Mascola." 

Gregory  continued  to  listen  to  the  rapid-fire 
exhaust  as  it  died  away  in  the  distance.  Then  he 
pictured  himself  driving  the  trim  craft,  plunging 
through  the  waves  and  hurling  the  spray  into  his  face 
as  he  raced  on.  Recalled  to  himself  by  the  slow-mov 
ing  Pelican  burdened  by  her  tow,  he  reflected  that 
speed  sometimes  was  everything.  If  he  was  going 
to  oppose  Mascola  he  would  have  to  get  there  first. 
Dickie  was  speaking  again. 

"Joe  Barrows  built  her  up  at  Port  Angeles. 
Mascola  hasn't  had  her  very  long  and  he  won't  have 
her  much  longer  if  he  pounds  her  like  that.  I  wonder 
what  he's  going  out  to  Diablo  for  in  such  a  hurry." 

Gregory  could  not  answer.     But  he  made  up  his 


I32  EL  DIABLO 

mind  if  he  was  ever  going  to  find  out,  he  would  have 
to  have  a  faster  boat  than  the  Fuor  d' Italia.  Perhaps 
Joe  Barrows  could  help  him  out. 

Through  the  long  night  the  Pelican  crept  into  the 
thickening  fog  with  the  disabled  Curlew.  Daybreak 
found  them  at  the  entrance  to  Crescent  Bay.  When 
they  reached  the  Lang  docks  the  masts  of  the  fishing- 
fleet  could  be  dimly  discerned  through  the  shifting 
mist  like  a  forest  of  bare-trunked  trees. 

Dickie  frowned. 

"The  boys  are  late  getting  out,"  she  observed.  "I 
wonder  what's  the  matter." 

As  they  drew  alongside  the  wharf  it  was  evident 
that  something  unusual  was  in  the  air.  The  pier  was 
thronged  with  fishermen,  gathered  together  in  little 
groups,  leaning  idly  against  the  empty  fish-boxes.  At 
the  landing  party's  approach  the  low  hum  of  conver 
sation  died  away  into  a  faint  murmur.  A  solitary 
figure,  standing  apart  from  the  others,  hurried  for 
ward  to  meet  the  girl  as  she  walked  up  the  gangway. 

"Hello,  Jack.    What's  the  trouble?" 

McCoy  nodded  in  the  direction  of  the  silent  fisher 
men.  "Trouble  enough,"  he  whispered.  "I'm  mighty 
glad  you've  come,  Dick.  There's  a  strike  on.  Carlin's 
got  them  all  riled  up  and  there's  hell  to  pay." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   STRIKE 

A  STRIKE  at  this  of  all  times !  And  Pete  Carlin 
**  at  the  bottom  of  it !  With  her  nerves  frayed  raw 
by  two  nights  of  sleepless  vigil  and  the  memory  of  the 
Curlers  disabled  motor  rankling  within  her,  Dickie 
Lang  brushed  by  a  group  of  men  and  confronted  a 
bullet-headed  man  in  a  loose  gray  sweater. 

"Carlin,"  she  said  clearly  in  a  voice  which  all 
could  hear,  "you're  fired.  You're  a  crook.  If  you'd 
work  the  clock  around  I  wouldn't  have  you  on  the 
job." 

Turning  to  the  fishermen  she  rapidly  related  the 
incident  of  the  finding  of  the  emery-dust  in  the 
Curlew's  motor. 

"It's  a  lie,"  Carlin  interrupted,  "I  don't " 

"It's  the  truth,  Pete  Carlin,  and  you  know  it." 

Dickie  moved  closer  to  Carlin  and  her  eyes  met  his. 
"You  can't  look  me  in  the  eye  and  deny  it,"  she 
challenged.  As  the  man  said  nothing,  she  flashed: 
"Get  off  my  dock  while  you're  still  able  to  walk.  If 
I  was  a  man  I'd  knock  you  down." 

The  man  grinned  but  did  not  move. 

"But  you  ain't,"  he  retorted.     "I  reckon  I  ain't 

133 


134  EL  DIABLO 

goin'  to  have  no  fool  girl  tell  me  where  to  head  in  at. 
I  reckon  I " 

A  heavy  hand  fell  on  his  shoulder  and  his  sentence 
remained  unfinished.  Gregory's  eyes  were  snapping 
close  to  Carlin's. 

"Beat  it,"  he  said,  "while  the  trail's  open." 

Carlin  flashed  a  glance  over  his  shoulder  at  the 
fishermen  who  stood  looking  on  in  stoical  silence. 
Then  he  decided  to  go.  Mumbling  to  himself,  he 
turned  sullenly  from  the  men  about  him  and  walked 
slowly  down  the  dock. 

Dickie  Lang  faced  the  silent  fishermen. 

"Now,  boys,  what  is  it?  I'll  hear  what  you've 
got  to  say.  But  I  won't  have  any  dealings  with  a 
crook." 

The  men  about  her  shuffled  their  feet  and  drew 
closer.  Then  a  man  in  a  faded  plaid  jumper  detached 
himself  from  the  others  and  began  to  speak. 

"We  ain't  got  nothin'  against  you,  Miss  Lang,"  he 
began  uncertainly.  "But  we've  all  got  to  look  out  for 
ourselves.  We  got  families  and  folks  dependin'  on 
us.  Livin'  's  out  of  sight.  So  is  clothes  and  every 
thing.  We " 

"What's  your  proposition,  Blagg?" 

The  fisherman  hesitated  at  the  directness  of  the 
question.  Then  he  recited :  "Straight  time.  Eight- 
hour  day  for  six  dollars.  Double  money  for  overtime 
and  Sundays." 

Dickie  started  at  the  demand.  Carlin  had  done  his 
work  well  to  set  such  a  limit  as  that.  She  wondered 


THE  STRIKE  135 

how  far  the  seeds  of  discontent  had  spread  among  the 
others.  As  her  eye  traveled  over,  the  silent  groups, 
Blagg  went  on : 

"You  see,  miss,  as  I  say  we  got  families  and  the 
women-folks" — 

"Don't  blame  the  women,  Joe,"  interrupted  the 
girl.  "If  they  got  half  of  what  the  saloons  leave 
they'd  have  no  kick  coming.  I'll  bet  they're  not  back 
of  this.  You've  been  listening  to  a  half-baked  fool 
who  couldn't  make  a  living  if  dollars  grew  on  trees. 
All  Pete  Carlin  can  do  is  talk.  You  boys  know  he 
isn't  a  fisherman." 

She  stepped  closer  and  her  voice  dropped  to  a  con 
versational  tone.  "It  just  isn't  in  the  business,  boys. 
If  I  promised  to  pay  those  wages  I  couldn't  do  it.  I'd 
be  broke  with  the  first  run  of  bad  luck  and  you  know 
it  as  well  as  I  do,  if  you'd  stop  to  think.  The  man 
doesn't  live  who  can  pay  that  around  here  and  get  out." 

Blagg  smiled  knowingly  at  the  fishermen. 

"You're  wrong,  miss,"  he  said.  "We've  already 
got  the  offer  for  a  job  at  them  terms." 

"Not  here?" 

He  nodded.  "Right  here  in  town.  We  won't 
have  to  move  nor  nothin'."  Watching  the  effect  of 
his  words  upon  the  girl,  he  went  on,  carried  away  by 
the  importance  of  his  announcement.  "That's  why 
we're  puttin'  it  up  to  you.  You've  always  shot  pretty 
square  with  us.  But  money  talks,  and  we  all  got  to 
look  out  for  Number  One.  I  reckon  none  of  the  boys 
is  honein'  to  go  to  work  for  a  furrinor,  but  we  all 


136  EL  DIABLO 

knows  his  money's  good  as  yours   and  that's  what 
counts." 

"You  mean  you're  going  to  ditch  me  for  Mascola  ?" 

Blagg  dropped  his  eyes  to  the  planks  of  the  wharf 
before  the  girl's  steady  gaze. 

"We  don't  aim  to  ditch  nobody,"  he  said  awk 
wardly.  "But  we  got  to  live.  The  dago's  offered  us 
six  day  straight  with  double  for  overtime  and 
Sundays.  We  ain't  decided  yet.  We  waited  to  give 
you  a  chance." 

Dickie  Lang  listened  quietly,  her  eyes  roaming 
among  the  knots  of  silent  fishermen.  Some  she 
noticed  stood  close  and  as  their  spokesman  went  on, 
shuffled  closer.  Others  held  aloof.  When  Blagg  had 
concluded,  she  began  to  speak  in  a  voice  which  carried 
to  the  detached  groups  of  men  standing  in  the  back 
row. 

"I'm  not  going  to  say  much.  But  what  I  do  say 
I  want  it  to  sink  in.  Come  up  closer  all  of  you  where 
we  can  see  one  another." 

When  the  fishermen  ranged  themselves  about  her, 
she  looked  hard  into  their  weather-beaten  faces  and 
went  on  earnestly:  "Boys,  you've  known  me  since  I 
was  a  kid.  Most  of  you  knew  my  dad.  If  you  did, 
you  knew  a  man.  He  had  to  fight  hard  for  a  living. 
But  he  shot  square  every  foot  of  the  way.  Some  of 
you  were  here  when  he  came." 

She  singled  out  a  few  of  the  older  men  and  spoke 
directly  to  them:  "Do  you  think  you'd  be  here  now 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  Bill  Lang?  What  were  the  Rus- 


THE  STRIKE  137 

sians  and  Austrians  doing  to  you  when  he  came  ?  You 
were  all  down  on  your  uppers  and  didn't  know  where 
your  next  meal  was  coming  from.  Who  was  it  that 
took  up  your  fight?  Who  backed  you  with  boats  and 
gear  and  taught  you  how  to  fish  so  you  could  hold 
your  own  against  the  outsiders?  You  know  without 
my  telling  you." 

Some  of  the  older  fishermen  dropped  their  eyes  to 
the  rough  board  planks  at  the  girl's  words.  There  was 
no  doubt  that  Lang  had  been  square.  But  as  Blagg 
had  pointed  out,  a  man  had  to  look  out  for  himself. 

"You  think  that  hasn't  anything  to  do  with  your 
quitting  me  to  get  more  money  ?  All  right.  I'll  show 
you  that  it  has.  Let  me  ask  you  some  questions. 
What  is  Mascola  paying  his  own  fishermen?  Why 
should  he  pay  you  fellows  twice  that  much?  Does  he 
think  you'll  rob  more  traps,  lay  round  more  nets  and 
run  more  men  off  the  beach  with  his  seine?  Why 
should  be  pay  you  six  dollars  when  he  can  load  up  with 
a  gang  that'll  do  what  he  says  for  three?  Is  that 
business?" 

She  paused  and  her  lips  compressed  in  a  straight 
line  as  she  went  on :  "You  can  answer  those  questions 
just  as  well  as  I  can.  You  know  what  Mascola's  game 
is.  He  thinks  he's  going  to  put  me  out  of  business. 
He's  trying  to  crowd  me  off  the  sea.  What  do  you 
suppose  will  become  of  you  if  he  makes  good?  How 
long  will  you  get  that  six  dollars  a  day  with  the  Lang 
fleet  out  of  commission?  You've  been  fighting  his 
men  for  a  square  deal  ever  since  you  came  here.  And 


138  EL  DIABLO 

now  you're  figuring  on  helping  them  run  you  out  of 
your  own  town." 

Blagg  noticed  that  several  of  the  men  were  falling 
back  and  whispering  among  themselves.  Scenting 
signs  of  a  break  among  his  ranks,  he  felt  it  was  up  to 
him  to  say  something.  Well,  he  had  his  trump  card 
yet  to  play. 

"We  ain't  such  fools  as  you  think,"  he  said.  "We 
ain't  gone  at  this  thing  without  considering  pretty 
careful  and  gettin'  good  advice.  Last  night  some  of 
us  had  a  meetin'  and  talked  things  over.  Mr.  Rock 
was  there  and  he  give  us  some  mighty  good  advice. 
He  says  to  the  boys  that  it  was  every  feller  for  him 
self  and " 

"Rock's  got  a  mortgage  on  your  house,  hasn't  he, 
Joe?" 

Blagg  flushed  beneath  his  tan. 

"I  reckon  that  ain't  got  nothing  to  do  with  it  if 
he  has,"  he  challenged.  "And  you  understand  I  ain't 
even  say  in'  he  has.  But  he's  a  business  man." 

"And  a  hypocrite,"  supplemented  Dickie  Lang. 
"Nobody  knows  that  any  better  than  I.  He  lied  to 
me  and  tried  to  flim-flam  me  out  of  my  boats  before 
my  dad  was  buried  a  week.  If  I'd  fallen  for  it  he 
would  have  had  me  right  where  he's  got  you,  Joe. 
But  I  didn't.  And  when  he  found  out  I  was  going  to 
stick  to  you  boys,  he  called  me  a  fool  and  said  no  white 
man  could  compete  against  Mascola's  men." 

As    she    paused    for    breath,    Gregory    saw   Tom 


THE  STRIKE  139 

Howard  hobbling  through  the  crowd,  speaking  in  low 
tones  with  the  fishermen. 

"One  minute  more  and  I'm  through,"  the  girl 
concluded.  "We're  up  against  a  hard  fight  here  at 
Legonia.  A  fight  for  Americans  to  fish  their  own 
waters.  Sounds  foolish,  but  you  know  it's  the  truth. 
When  my  father  and  Mr.  Gregory  were  drowned  off 
Diablo,  Mascola  thought  he  had  us  beaten.  Rock 
thought  so,  too.  But  I'm  telling  you  we're  going  to 
fool  them  both.  There's  something  wrong  around 
here,  hoys,  when  we  can't  get  a  fifty-fifty  break  on  our 
own  coast.  And  we're  going  to  find  out  what  it  is." 

Seeing  that  she  had  the  ear  of  the  men  at  last,  she 
walked  closer. 

"Listen,  boys,  I've  got  a  big  proposition  to  offer 
you.  One  that  will  beat  Mascola's  like  an  ace  beats  a 
deuce.  Because  this  one  is  on  the  square." 

The  fishermen  crowded  closer  while  she  went  on : 

"You  know  what  we've  been  up  against  here  for 
years  to  get  good  help.  You  boys  have  been  working 
short-handed  most  of  the  time.  Doing  more  work 
than  it  was  up  to  you  to  do.  I've  got  a  plan  now  to 
get  all  the  men  you  want.  Good  men  too.  Fellows 
who  have  been  tried  out,  red-blooded  men.  Fighters! 
I  want  you  men  to  train  them.  Show  them  how  to 
fish.  In  a  little  while  they'll  be  doing  all  the  work  and 
I'll  pay  you  four  dollars  a  day  straight  time  with  a 
dollar  a  day  more  if  you  stick  through  the  season. 
But  better  than  that  I'll  give  you  a  share  in  the  profits 


140  EL  DIABLO 

of  not  only  my  own  business,  but  the  Legonia  Fish 
Cannery  as  well." 

Gregory  gulped.  It  was  Dickie's  voice  all  right. 
But  the  words  were  his  own.  There  was  some  mistake 
somewhere.  He  strove  to  regain  control  of  his  scat 
tered  senses  as  Blagg  burst  out : 

"You're  figurin'  to  start  somethin'  you  can't  finish, 
ain't  you  ?  You  ain't  bought  the  cannery  already,  have 
you?" 

"Don't  you  worry  about  that,  Blagg.  I  know 
what  I'm  talking  about.  Mr.  Gregory  and  I  are  part 
ners  on  this  deal." 

Blagg  was  taken  back  by  the  girl's  announcement. 
Almost  as  much  so  as  Gregory  himself. 

"Suppose  there  ain't  no  profits?"  put  in  another 
fisherman. 

"That's  your  lookout  as  well  as  mine."  Again  the 
girl  took  Gregory's  words  and  went  on:  "But  there 
will  be.  I'm  going  to  get  a  bunch  of  ex-navy  men 
down  here  that  mean  business.  They  won't  let 
Mascola,  Rock  or  anybody  else  bluff  them  off  the  sea. 
All  they  want  is  a  chance  to  learn  the  game.  You 
boys  can  teach  it  to  them  right." 

Blagg  stepped  back  and  began  to  whisper  to  the 
men  about  him.  The  other  fishermen  looked  at  one 
another  and  listened  for  Bill  Lang's  girl  to  go  on : 

"You  fellows  all  know  the  advantage  it  gives  you 
to  have  enough  boats  and  men.  If  you  break  down 
and  get  into  any  trouble,  it's  pretty  good  to  have 


THE  STRIKE  141 

somebody  standing  by  to  give  you  a  hand.  And  you 
know  that  Mascola  knows  how  to  make  trouble." 

Turning  to  the  older  men,  some  of  whom  had 
already  begun  to  feel  their  joints  stiffening  with  rheu 
matism,  she  said :  "Fishing's  a  hard  game,  boys,  for 
the  best  of  us.  And  it  doesn't  get  any  easier  as  we  get 
older.  There's  a  lot  of  you  who  will  have  to  go  into 
dry-dock  before  long  and  get  patched  up.  And  there's 
some  that  can't  afford  to  lay  up.  You've  been  working 
with  your  hands  too  long.  You've  got  to  ease  up  and 
use  your  brains.  That's  what  I  want  to  hire  now. 
These  young  fellows  are  eager  to  help  you.  It  will 
be  up  to  you  to  show  them  what  to  do." 

Could  this  be  the  girl  \vho  had  angrily  announced 
that  she  intended  to  run  her  business  in  her  own  way? 
Gregory  could  only  stare  at  Dickie  Lang.  So  far,  she 
had  not  even  included  him  as  being  a  partner  to  the 
idea,  save  by  her  pledge  of  the  profits  of  his  cannery. 
Surely  she  would  explain  her  sudden  change  of  heart. 
Listening  intently,  he  heard  her  conclude : 

"Think  it  over,  boys.  It's  a  chance  that  may  never 
come  again.  If  there  are  any  questions  you'd  like  to 
ask,  shoot." 

Blagg  noted  that  her  words  were  having  a  marked 
effect  upon  the  silent  fishermen.  Seeking  to  stem  the 
tide  of  the  reaction  which  he  felt  was  setting  in  against 
him,  he  began  to  make  objections. 

Dickie  Lang  met  his  arguments  with  painstaking 
explanations  and  the  objections  gradually  became 
fewer,  simmering  down  into  more  or  less  intelligent 


142  EL  DIABLO 

questions.  Gregory  noticed  that  the  fishermen  began 
to  retire  and  clustered  together  in  little  groups  while 
they  talked  earnestly  among  themselves.  Still  there 
came  no  explanation  from  the  girl.  She  was  cham 
pioning  his  ideas  as  if  they  had  been  her  own  cherished 
plans. 

At  length  the  various  knots  of  men  drew  further 
apart  and  faced  each  other  in  two  well-marked  divi 
sions.  To  the  left  stood  Joe  Blagg,  about  him  cluster 
ing  the  younger  and  more  radical  element  of  the  fish 
ing  colony.  On  the  right  the  property-owners  and 
heads  of  families  for  the  most  part,  drew  closer  to 
Big  Jack  Stuss,  their  acknowledged  leader. 

Dickie  Lang*  regarded  the  two  factions  carefully, 
striving  to  count  their  ranks.  Each  was  about  evenly 
divided,  she  figured,  with  Big  Jack's  constituency 
slightly  in  the  lead. 

Blagg  stepped  forward  and  began  to  speak:  "It's 
six  straight  for  me  and  mine/'  he  said.  "Them's  our 
terms.  The  boys  can't  see  your  new-fangled  proposi 
tion  at  all." 

"It's  up  to  you,"  the  girl  replied  coolly.  "If  that's 
the  way  you  feel,  you  can  get  your  money.  But  before 
you  do,  I'd  advise  you  to  talk  it  over  at  home.  Don't 
forget  that  I'm  fighting  for  you — not  against  you.  It 
might  be  pretty  nice  to  remember  some  time  that  you 
tried  to  help  yourselves.  Think  it  over  before  you 
get  your  checks." 

As  she  finished  speaking,  Big  Jack  got  slowly  under 
way.  Elbowing  a  path  through  the  crowd  he  shuffled 


'Me  and  my  fellers  has  decided  to  stick" 


THE  STRIKE  143 

closer,  hitching1  at  the  straining  suspender  to  which 
was  entrusted  the  task  of  holding  in  place  his  two 
pairs  of  baggy  canvas  trousers.  Shifting  from  one 
bowed  knee  to  the  other,  he  contemplated  his  great 
bare  toes  in  silence  while  he  drew  in  a  deep  breath 
which  filled  his  huge  lungs  to  the  bursting  point  and 
caused  the  muscles  of  his  neck  to  stand  out  in  purpled 
knots. 

Dickie  waited,  knowing  full  well  that  it  was  Big 
Jack's  invariable  preface  for  speech.  When  the  big 
fisherman  had  secured  enough  compression  to  proceed, 
he  boomed  forth  in  a  fog-horn  voice: 

"Me  and  my  fellers  has  decided  to  stick.  Youse 
fellers  can  count  on  us  if  you  shoot  square.  We's 
wTillin'  to  take  a  chanct." 

His  sentences  were  interpolated  with  great  gusts 
of  surplus  breath.  As  he  finished  speaking  he  lum 
bered  away  to  rejoin  his  companions. 

'That's  the  stuff,  boys.  It's  the  way  I  like  to  hear 
men  talk.  It  shows  you've  got  the  sand.  Take  it 
from  me,  you'll  never  be  sorry  you  stuck." 

She  walked  forward  and  passed  familiarly  among 
them  while  the  Blagg  faction  melted  slowly  away  and 
straggled  down  the  dock  in  the  direction  of  the  town. 

Gregory  stood  with  McCoy  while  the  excitement 
quieted  down  and  Dickie  despatched  the  fishing-boats 
on  their  accustomed  morning  cruise. 

"Well,  I'll  say  you've  done  wonders,"  McCoy  was 
saying.  "Who  would  ever  have  thought  that  Dick 
would  have  given  in  ?" 


144  EL  DIABLO 

Gregory  nodded  weakly.  "I  was  rather  surprised 
myself,"  he  admitted. 

McCoy  looked  at  his  watch.  "I  must  go,"  he  said. 
"It's  almost  time  to  blow  the  whistle.  Coming  up 
soon?" 

Gregory  promised  to  be  on  hand  as  soon  as  he 
got  his  breakfast  and  McCoy  hurried  off.  When  the 
last  of  her  remaining  men  had  left  the  dock,  Gregory 
noticed  the  girl  coming  toward  him.  Now  he  would 
learn  the  reason  for  her  sudden  change  of  mind.  He 
listened  eagerly  for  the  explanation. 

Dickie  Lang  passed  a  slim  brown  hand  slowly  over 
her  forehead  and  replaced  a  tousled  lock  of  red-brown 
hair. 

"Now,"  she  said  calmly,  "when  can  you  get  me  my 
men?" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    MOTHER   OF   INVENTION 

EVERYTHING  was  coming  his  way.  Kenneth 
**•*  Gregory  glanced  again  at  his  first  balance-sheet. 
The  cannery  had  been  in  operation  but  a  single  month 
and  already  the  business  wras  exceeding  his  fondest 
expectations.  He  glanced  at  the  chart  which  hung 
by  his  side.  Forty-two  completely  equipped  fishing- 
boats  in  the  water  and  every  one  fully  manned.  He 
smiled  as  he  thought  of  Dickie  Lang's  astonishment 
at  the  manner  in  wrhich  the  ex-navy  men  had  taken 
hold  of  the  work. 

His  smile  broadened  too  as  he  noted  the  receipts 
from  the  fresh  fish  and  the  canned  product.  Fishing 
had  sure  been  good.  And  there  had  been  little  or  no 
interference  from  Mascola.  Since  the  day  when 
Dickie  had  accepted  his  proposition  all  had  gone 
smoothly.  Gregory  attributed  his  success  to  the  carry 
ing  out  of  an  idea.  It  had  worked.  It  had  to  work. 
And  it  was  his  idea. 

On  the  floor  of  the  cannery,  Dickie  Lang  was 
also  analyzing  the  phenomenal  success  of  the  Legonia 
Fish  Cannery  while  she  waited  for  the  owner  to  accom 
pany  her  on  their  daily  cruise  to  the  fishing  grounds. 

145 


I46  EL  DIABLO 

"I'll  tell  you,  Jack,  it  gets  my  goat  how  things 
began  to  pick  up  the  very  minute  I  threw  up  my 
contract.  He's  had  nothing  but  luck  ever  since." 

"I  wouldn't  say  that,  Dick,"  McCoy  objected. 
"The  boss's  idea  was  worth  something.  Of  course 


"Oh,  rats!  I'm  sick  of  hearing  everybody  talking 
about  an  idea.  All  these  fellows  in  here  think  that 
Kenneth  Gregory  can't  make  a  mistake.  They  think 
that  nobody  else  could  have  done  what  he  did." 

"That's  what  you  want  fellows  to  think  who  are 
working  for  you,  isn't  it?"  ventured  McCoy. 

Dickie  gasped.  Had  McCoy  too  fallen  a  victim  to 
hero-worship?  McCoy,  who  had  been  her  loyal 
friend,  and  servant?  She  determined  to  find  out  to 
what  extent  he  had  transferred  his  allegiance. 

"Do  you  think  Mr.  Gregory  did  any  more  than  I 
could  have  done?"  she  flashed. 

McCoy  endeavored  to  temporize.    "Well,  in  a  way 

he  didn't,"  he  said,   "and  then  again  he  did.     You 
jj 

But  Dickie  refused  to  see.  Whirling  angrily,  she 
walked  rapidly  toward  the  office.  Anything  to  get 
away  from  hearing  Gregory's  praises  chanted  from 
every  lip.  Better  be  with  the  idol  himself  than  his 
devout  followers.  She  flung  open  the  door  and  entered 
the  office.  Gregory  faced  her  with  a  smile.  A  self- 
satisfied  smile,  the  girl  thought.  In  his  hand  was  a 
paper. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  INVENTION         147 

"Look  at  that/'  he  exclaimed.  "My  idea  has 
worked  out  a  lot  better  than  I  anticipated." 

Dickie  glanced  coldly  at  the  sheet  but  made  no 
effort  to  take  it  from  his  hand.  Looking  him  full  in 
the  eye,  she  observed : 

"I'm  about  caught  up  with  that  idea  of  yours.  I 
don't  see  that  there  is  anything  in  it  to  cause  any  one 
to  get  the  swelled-head." 

"Who's  getting  the  swelled-head?"  demanded 
Gregory,  the  smile  passing  from  his  face. 

"Well,  I'm  not,"  retorted  the  girl,  laying  special 
stress  on  the  pronoun.  "I've  seen  too  much  of  this 
game  to  have  my  head  turned  by  a  little  luck." 

Gregory  overlooked  the  implication  and  admitted 
soberly : 

"Yes,  we  sure  have  had  luck.  There's  no  denying 
that.  I  never  had  any  idea  the  boys  would  take  to  the 
game  the  way  they  have." 

"They  wouldn't  if  it  hadn't  been  for  my  fishermen 
taking  all  the  trouble  they  did  with  them.  Why,  a 
lot  of  those  fellows  were  seasick  when  they  first  came 
down  here.  They  were  'rocking-chair  sailors.'  My 
men  made  them  what  they  are.  I  don't  see  any  luck 
in  that." 

Gregory  smiled  provokingly. 

"No,  I  don't  suppose  there  was,"  he  said.  "What 
I  meant  was  I  was  lucky  in  getting  hold  of  men  who 
really  wanted  to  learn.  You've  admitted  several 
times  that  they  got  along  faster  than  you  had  any  idea 
they  would." 


148  EL  DIABLO 

"Anybody  could  catch  fish  the  way  they've  been 
running  the  last  few  weeks/'  evaded  Dickie.  "I 
never  saw  anything  like  it  before.  Nearly  every  boat 
comes  in  with  a  good  haul.  And  when  the  local 
market  was  glutted  at  Port  Angeles,  you  shot  them 
up  north  and  just  tumbled  on  to  a  good  market  as 
Frisco  was  out  of  fish.  That  was  nothing  but  luck," 
she  challenged. 

"And  now  we  have  orders  for  all  canned  stuff  we 
can  turn  out,"  Gregory  put  in. 

"Sure  you  have.  From  the  Western  outfit.  I 
wouldn't  trust  them  out  of  sight  with  a  case  of  fish. 
They'll  eat  the  stuff  up  as  long  as  you  can  throw  it 
to  them  in  big  lots.  That  gives  them  a  chance  to  beat 
you  down  on  the  price.  The  first  bad  run  of  luck  you 
have,  they'll  drop  you  cold.  I  know.  They  did  the 
same  thing  with  your  father  the  very  first  time  be 
began  to  fall  down  on  his  output." 

"Yes,  but " 

"You're  not  going  to  fall  down."  She  took  the 
words  from  his  mouth  and  hurried  on :  "That  is  just 
what  I  was  afraid  of.  Your  luck  has  gone  to  your 
head.  You  have  an  idea  things  are  always  going  to 
be  like  this.  I  know  better.  And  you'll  know  before 
you  get  through.  The  fish  are  liable  to  head  out  to 
sea  any  day." 

"You  guessed  wrong  about  what  I  was  going  to 
say,"  Gregory  announced.  "I  was  going  to  tell  you 
I  had  an  order  from  Winfield  &  Camby  for  a  shipment 
of  albacore  if  we  can  get  them  out  right  away. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  INVENTION         149 

Suppose  the  fish  do  run  to  sea,"  he  went  on.  "I'll 
back  you  to  find  them  if  any  one  can.  And  we're 
well  equipped  now  to  follow  them  up." 

Dickie  was  somewhat  mollified  but  she  took  care 
not  to  show  it. 

"You're  not  figuring  on  Mascola  either,"  she 
began. 

"Mascola,"  Gregory  repeated.  "Why,  he's  been 
decent  enough  the  last  two  or  three  weeks." 

"I  know  it,"  she  interrupted.  "That's  what  has 
me  guessing.  It  isn't  like  Mascola  to  be  that  way. 
He's  been  checking  up  on  us  right  along,  but  he  hasn't 
bothered  any  of  our  boats  since  he  lost  the  Roma. 
It's  about  time  he  showed  his  hand." 

"We  have  nearly  as  many  boats  as  he  has  now," 
Gregory  observed.  "Maybe  he  thinks " 

Again  the  girl  anticipated  his  words. 

"Get  that  out  of  your  head,"  she  snapped.  "If  you 
think  Mascola's  quit,  you're  wrong.  The  more  boats 
dad  got,  the  harder  Mascola  fought  him.  It's  only 
when  an  outfit  gets  big  enough  to  make  a  showing 
that  he  begins  to  get  busy." 

"We'll  have  the  rest  of  the  cannery  boats  out  the 
last  of  the  week,"  Gregory  announced.  "I'll  have  the 
boys  rush  them.  We  won't  start  anything,  but  just 
get  good  and  ready.  It's  Mascola's  move.  I've  made 
it  perfectly  clear  to  all  the  men  that  we  are  not  looking 
for  trouble." 

Dickie  was  silent  for  a  moment.     Then  she  said: 

"I  have  an  idea  that  Rock  gave  Mascola  a  'bum 


150  EL  DIABLO 

steer'  and  that  both  of  them  are  just  beginning  to  find 
out  their  mistake." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  Rock  guessed  wrong.  He  told  a  lot 
of  people  around  town  when  you  opened  up  that  you'd 
be  broke  in  thirty  days.  He  and  Mascola  are  pretty 
thick  and  the  chances  are  he  told  Mascola  the  same 
thing  and  the  dago  believed  him.  Now  they're  begin 
ning  to  find  out  they  slipped  up  in  not  trying  to 
cripple  you  before  you  got  your  men  broken  in.  I've 
just  got  a  hunch  it  won't  be  long  before  we  hear  from 
Mascola.  He's  bringing  more  boats  in  here  every  day 
from  down  the  coast  and  the  islands." 

Seeing  they  were  getting  nowhere  by  their  talk, 
Gregory  tossed  the  balance  sheet  to  the  desk  and  got 
to  his  feet. 

"We'd  better  be  on  our  way,"  he  said. 

With  Dickie  following,  he  lead  the  way  out  into 
the  cannery  where  he  stopped  for  a  moment  to  speak  to 
McCoy.  "I'm  going  outside  for  a  while,  Mac.  If 
the  Western  people  call  up,  tell  them  we're  shipping  the 
last  of  those  sardines  to-day.  Sound  them  out  on 
albacore  prices  in  job  lots." 

Dickie  turned  away  at  the  mention  of  the  jobbers. 
Gregory  evidently  thought  very  little  of  her  advice. 
Biting  her  lips,  she  walked  to  the  door  to  wait  on  the 
receiving  platform.  McCoy  watched  his  employer 
follow  after  her.  Dick  was  sore  at  him.  He'd  have 
to  go  up  to  the  house  this  evening  and  try  to  square 


THE  MOTHER  OF  INVENTION         151 

himself.  She  was  evidently  sore  at  Gregory,  too. 
And  in  that  thought,  McCoy  derived  some  consolation. 

\Yith  the  crisp  sea  air  fanning  their  faces  as  they 
headed  out  to  sea,  Dickie's  irritability  vanished. 
Desirous  of  starting  conversation  after  a  protracted 
silence,  she  began :  "Who  do  you  think  I  saw  down 
town  the  other  day  ?" 

Gregory  could  not  guess.  "I  was  in  the  bank," 
she  began  after  a  moment,  hoping  Gregory  would  not 
notice  that  at  times  she  did  frequent  Rock's  institution. 
"And  that  crazy  fool,  Boris,  was  in  there  trying  to 
borrow  some  money.  He's  been  hanging  round  town 
ever  since  Mascola  fired  him.  When  I've  seen  him  he's 
been  drunk  on  Japanese  sake.  He  has  it  in  for  me 
because  all  the  fishermen  kid  him  about  being  run  on 
the  rocks  by  a  girl.  When  I  stepped  back  from  the 
teller's  window,  Boris  lunged  against  me  and  started 
to  mumble  something.  But  before  he  had  hardly 
opened  his  mouth,  a  well-dressed  man  came  from 
somewhere  and  threw  him  half  across  the  room.  And 
who  do  you  think  it  was?'' 

Again  Gregory  shook  his  head. 

"Bandrist." 

As  Gregory  voiced  his  surprise,  the  girl  went  on : 

"You  wouldn't  have  known  him.  He  was  all 
dolled-up  and  looked  like  a  different  man.  He  knew 
me  all  right  and  he  had  the  nerve  to  ask  me  if  he  could 
come  to  see  me,"  she  concluded. 

Gregory's  dislike  of  Bandrist  increased. 

"What  did  you  tell  him?"  he  asked. 


152  EL  DIABLO 

Dickie  laughed. 

"I  told  him  I  wasn't  any  more  anxious  to  receive 
callers  at  my  home  than  he  was  at  his." 

Gregory  wondered  if  the  caustic  answer  to 
Bandrist  might  have  been  retailed  for  his  own  benefit. 
He  reflected  suddenly  that  Dickie  Lang  had  never  so 
much  as  intimated  that  he  would  be  a  welcome  guest  at 
her  home.  Well,  there  was  no  use  dwelling  on  it  now. 
He  had  never  bothered  the  girl,  and  never  would. 

"Bandrist  is  no  ordinary  sheep-man,"  she  went  on. 
"And  I  know  it.  He's  working  some  kind  of  a  game 
over  there  that  he  doesn't  want  people  to  butt  in  on." 
She  paused  abruptly  and  her  eyes  narrowed.  "I  won 
der,"  she  began,  but  left  her  sentence  unfinished  as  she 
noticed  that  Gregory  was  regarding  her  curiously. 
"What?"  he  prompted. 

"Nothing,"  she  said.  "Maybe  some  day  I'll  tell 
you.  But  not  now." 

Gregory  knew  her  well  enough  to  know  that 
nothing  could  be  gained  by  urging.  During  the 
silence  that  fell  upon  them  the  minds  of  both  were 
working  in  parallel  grooves,  groping  for  a  way  of 
light  to  lighten  the  darkness  of  an  unsolved  mystery. 
When  they  reached  the  albacore  banks  and  sighted  the 
vanguard  of  the  fishing  fleet,  both  came  back  sharply, 
back  from  the  maze  of  doubt  and  intangible  suspicions 
which  clouded  their  brains  as  the  fog  had  clouded  the 
island  that  held  their  thoughts. 

Making  the  rounds  of  the  albacore  fishermen  the 
truth  of  the  girl's  pessimistic  prophecy  became  strik- 


THE  MOTHER  OF  INVENTION         153 

ingly  apparent.  The  fish  had  undoubtedly  taken  to 
sea.  Laying-to  to  check  one  of  the  last  of  the  few 
remaining  boats  which  rode  at  anchor,  Dickie  con- 
suited  her  tally-sheet  and  shook  her  head. 

"Not  much  in  this,"  she  averred.  "It's  a  losing 
game  so  far.  And  there's  only  Big  Jack  with  the 
Albatross  yet  to  hear  from.  We  ought  to  find  him 
cruising  off  the  seal  rocks.  He's  generally  the  first 
out  and  the  last  to  come  in.  He  never  gives  up  while 
there's  a  chance  left.  I've  seen  him  'chumming'  for 
albacore  all  day  and  then  bring  in  a  bunch  hours  after 
everybody  else  had  given  up." 

As  they  drew  near  the  Albatross  she  hailed  the 
fisherman:  "How  are  the  fish,  Jack?" 

Big  Jack  continued  throwing  the  live  bait  from 
the  tanks  into  the  water.  Then  he  straightened  up 
and  hitched  at  his  suspender. 

"They're  beginnin'  to  come  in  like  hell,"  he 
bellowed. 

The  fisherman  was  right.  Gregory  looked  over 
the  rail  and  gasped  with  wonderment.  The  sea  about 
them  was  literally  alive  with  fish.  The  lines  which 
flashed  over  the  side  of  the  Albatross  scarcely  touched 
the  water  before  the  fish  struck. 

Dickie's  eyes  snapped  at  the  sight. 

"Put  her  about,"  she  cried  to  Gregory.  "And 
beat  it  as  fast  as  you  can  for  home.  We'll  make  a 
killing  if  we  can  just  overhaul  enough  of  the  boys  to 
get  in  on  the  run.  Load  up,  Jack,"  she  called  as  the 
vessel  swung  about.  "Cruise  up  and  down  and  keep 


154  EL  DIABLO 

'chumming'  so  we  won't  lose  them.  We're  going  after 
the  fleet.  Pound  her  for  all  she'll  stand,"  she 
instructed  Gregory.  "Every  minute  means  money." 

They  had  been  running  only  a  few  minutes  when 
they  sighted  Mascola's  speed-boat  astern.  The  girl 
frowned  as  the  Fnor  df It  alia  roared  by  in  a  swirl  of 
white  water. 

"This  is  where  speed  counts/'  she  exclaimed.  "If 
Mascola  tumbles  on  to  Big  Jack  he'll  have  his  gang 
around  the  Albatross  before  we  can  get  within  hailing 
distance  of  our  nearest  boat." 

Gregory  watched  the  rapidly  disappearing  speed 
boat  anxiously.  It  was  on  his  tongue  to  tell  the  girl 
of  the  launch  Joe  Barrows  was  building  for  him  at 
Port  Angeles,  a  craft  which  the  boat-builder  guaran 
teed  in  the  contract  would  beat  the  boat  he  had  built  for 
the  Italian. 

"Keeping  in  close  touch  is  everything  in  this  busi 
ness,"  Dickie  observed.  "Fish  come  in  bunches.  The 
ocean's  spotted  like  a  checker-board.  You  may  have 
one  boat  loading  up  and  another  right  around  the  next 
point  doing  nothing.  That's  where  Mascola  wins  out," 
she  exclaimed.  "He  scouts  round  and  tips  his  fleet 
off  if  you've  anything  good.  Then  they're  down  on 
you  like  a  flock  of  gulls." 

Before  they  caught  up  with  the  stragglers  of  the 
cannery  fleet  they  sighted  the  alien  fishing-boats 
coming  in  their  direction.  Dickie's  brow  was  overcast. 

"Just  what  I  was  afraid  of,"  she  cried.  "He's 
tipped  them  off.  We're  going  to  lose  a  lot  to-day  on 


THE  MOTHER  OF  INVENTION         155 

account  of  not  being  able  to  keep  closer  together  and 
being  shy  on  a  fast  boat.  You  might  as  well  get  the 
idea  of  filling  that  albacore  order  out  of  your  head 
right  now." 

As  they  overhauled  the  cannery  boats  and  headed 
them  back  to  the  seal  rocks,  Gregory  considered  the 
girl's  words  about  keeping  in  closer  touch.  If  he  was 
going  to  beat  Mascola,  he'd  have  to  get  there  first. 
The  speed-launch  which  Barrows  was  building  for 
him  would  serve  as  a  signal  boat,  but  even  that  would 
not  serve  to  keep  the  other  boats  in  constant  touch  with 
one  another.  Before  they  reached  the  last  of  the  avail 
able  boats  they  met  Mascola  coming  back.  While  the 
girl  stormed  at  their  helplessness  to  cope  with  the  sit 
uation,  Gregory  spoke  in  monosyllables  and  wrestled 
with  his  problem. 

He  considered  the  methods  of  communication 
employed  by  the  army  in  connecting  the  various  units. 
One  by  one  he  discarded  them.  The  semaphore 
would  serve  only  for  short  distances  and  then  only 
when  the  boats  were  within  sight  of  each  other.  The 
same  argument  would  apply  against  the  wig-wag. 
The  heliograph  would  be  useless  in  stormy  weather  or 
in  fog.  A  fast  launch  would  help  out,  but  even  that 
would  not  completely  solve  the  difficulty.  How  did 
boats  keep  in  touch  with  one  another?  The  answer 
came  at  once.  Why  hadn't  he  thought  of  it  before  ? 

When  they  came  in  sight  of  the  seal  rocks  they 
saw  the  masts  of  the  two  fleets  clustered  thickly  about 
the  Albatross. 


156  EL  DIABLO 

"Look  at  that,"  snapped  the  girl.  "Now,  maybe 
you'll  believe  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about.  We 
were  asleep  and  Mascola's  beat  us  to  it.  It  won't  take 
him  long  to  fish  them  out  with  an  outfit  like  that. 
He's  got  our  boats  on  the  outside  now,  taking  what's 
left." 

Gregory  saw  that  she  was  right.  Mascola's  boats 
were  crowded  closely  about  the  Albatross  and  his  own 
fleet  was  completely  fenced  off. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?  He's  got  them  already. 
Look!  He's  ready  to  move.  While  we've  been 
crawling  along  in  this  old  tub,  he's  cleaned  up." 

The  alien  fleet  began  to  get  under  way  as  she  spoke 
and  headed  about.  Darting  past  his  boats  came 
Mascola.  Noting  the  tardy  arrival  of  the  oncoming 
launch,  he  made  straight  for  them.  Slowing  down, 
he  drifted  by  with  his  white  teeth  flashing  in  an 
insolent  smile.  Then  he  opened  the  throttle  and  the 
Fuor  d'ltalia  leaped  forward  and  raced  away  with  an 
angry  roar. 

When  they  reached  the  Albatross,  Big  Jack  was 
apoplectic  with  rage.  It  was  some  minutes  before  he 
could  master  his  speech  sufficiently  to  explain  the  sit 
uation.  Mascola  had  arrived  when  they  were  hardly 
out  of  sight,  had  watched  them  pulling  in  the  fish 
and  had  gone  at  once  to  summon  his  boats.  The  aliens 
had  come  upon  him  from  around  the  point  in  ever- 
increasing  numbers.  Had  hedged  him  and  taken  his 
school.  When  the  cannery  boats  arrived  the  albacore 
quit  biting  and  took  to  other  waters. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  INVENTION         157 

Dickie  Lang  issued  orders  for  the  return  of  the 
fleet  to  Legonia.  Then  she  vented  her  wrath  on 
Kenneth  Gregory. 

"So  you  thought  you  had  Mascola  beaten,  did  you  ? 
What  did  I  tell  you?  Didn't  I  say  he'd  come  back 
at  the  first  chance?  Albacore  fishing  is  where  he's 
always  been  strong.  And  that's  about  all  there  is 
from  now  on.  We've  got  to  come  alive  and  forget 
these  ideas  and  get  down  to  brass  tacks.  Mascola  beat 
us  hands  down  and  we  couldn't  lift  a  finger  to  stop 
him.  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?  That's  what 
I  want  to  know." 

Gregory  curbed  his  rising  anger  and  answered 
quietly : 

"Before  I  tell  you  what  I'm  going  to  do,  I'd  like 
to  ask  you  a  question.  What  could  we  have  done 
legally  to  break  through  Mascola's  fence?" 

"Nothing.  That's  where  he  had  us.  He  got  there 
first.  To  get  in  to  the  fish  we'd  have  had  to  ram  his 
boats  and  he'd  have  you  up  before  the  local  inspectors 
in  no  time  if  you  had  done  that.  If  he  had  laid  his 
nets  around  ours  it  would  have  been  different.  You 
could  demand  sea-way  and  run  through  them  if  he 
didn't  move.  But  this  way  he  had  us  over  a  barrel. 
And  he  knew  it.  It's  a  trick  no  white  man  would  do. 
But  I  guess  even  you  will  admit  now  that  there  isn't 
a  drop  of  white  blood  in  that  dago's  body." 

"Then  about  the  only  way  we  could  have  beaten 
him,"  pursued  Gregory,  "would  have  been  to  have  got 
there  first  and  covered  our  own  boats.  Is  that  right  ?" 


158  EL  DIABLO 

"Yes.    But  that  is  not  so  easy  as  it  sounds." 

"It  is  not  so  hard  either,"  Gregory  went  on.  "I 
have  an  idea  that  I  think  will  work  out  all  right." 

Dickie's  eyes  flashed. 

"Forget  your  ideas !"  she  snapped.  "You've  got  to 
have  a  whole  lot  more  than  ideas  when  you  start  out 
to  beat  Mascola." 

Gregory  felt  his  patience  oozing  from  him  at  her 
words.  It  was  bad  enough  to  lose  an  order  from  a 
firm  he  hoped  to  get  in  strong  with,  without  the  girl 
rubbing  it  in. 

"You  haven't  done  anything  yet  but  find  fault," 
he  said.  "You  have  been  at  this  game  a  lot  longer 
than  I  have.  Maybe  you  have  something  to  suggest." 

Something  in  his  voice  caused  Dickie  to  quiet 
down.  She  began  to  cast  about  in  her  mind  for  an 
answer. 

"You've  got  to  keep  your  boats  in  closer  touch," 
she  began.  "So  Mascola  can't  work  this  same  deal  on 
us  again." 

"That  is  exactly  what  I  am  going  to  do." 

"You'll  have  to  show  me." 

"I  will.     I'm  going  to  show  you  and  Mascola  both. 
By  wireless." 

Before  she  could  interrupt,  he  hurried  on : 
"Listen.  Half  of  these  navy  men  know  the  Interna 
tional  code.  The  others  can  learn  easy  enough 
with  some  one  to  teach  them  who  has  worked  at  a 
radio  key.  I  have  several  who  have  done  that  and 
can  rig  the  sets." 


THE  MOTHER  OF  INVENTION         159 

"You  must  think  you're  a  millionaire.  You  aren't 
running  a  line  of  steamships.  Come  down  to " 

"The  sets  won't  cost  much,"  Gregory  went  on 
calmly.  "If  they  did  all  these  kids  along  the  shore 
wouldn't  have  them.  A  fifty  or  one-hundred-mile 
radius  would  be  enough  for  us.  And  it  wouldn't  take 
them  long  to  pay  for  themselves.  If  we  had  had  the 
boats  equipped  with  radio  outfits  to-day  we  could  have 
beaten  Mascola  at  his  own  game.  When  Big  Jack 
'chummed'  up  the  albacore  the  rest  of  our  boats  would 
have  known  it  before  Mascola  got  there.  The  fish  he 
caught  to-day  would  pay  for  quite  a  few  sets." 

"It  would  pay  for  itself  in  another  way  if  it  would 
work,"  supplemented  Dickie,  much  to  Gregory's  sur 
prise.  "Lots  of  times  a  boat  breaks  down  and  drifts 
on  to  a  reef.  If  she  could  get  word  to  some  one  close 
by  they  could  take  her  in  tow  or  even  pull  her  off 
before  she  was  hurt  much." 

Discussing  the  pros  and  cons  of  the  new  idea,  they 
took  their  way  toward  Legonia.  When  they  arrived 
at  the  Lang  wharf  the  girl  grudgingly  admitted  that 
the  plan  might  work.  At  least  it  might  justify  a  trial. 
Leaving  Dickie  at  her  own  dock  Gregory  was  about 
to  proceed  up  the  bay  to  the  cannery  wharf  when  she 
came  over  to  the  rail  and  exclaimed  in  a  low  voice : 

"Oh,  yes.  Another  thing.  I  didn't  have  a  chance 
to  look  at  that  statement  you  had  this  morning.  If 
you're  not  too  busy  to-night,  you  might  bring  it  up 
to  the  house." 


CHAPTER  XV 

BUSINESS   AND   PLEASURE 

A  LONE  in  his  little  room  in  the  fish  cannery 
^*  Kenneth  Gregory  found  himself  confronted  by  a 
new  and  unexpected  problem.  A  hurried  glance  at  his 
watch  only  served  to  aggravate  the  tense  lines  which 
creased  his  forehead.  It  was  seven-thirty  already.  He 
was  due  at  the  Lang  residence  at  eight.  And  what 
was  he  going  to  wear? 

The  seriousness  of  the  situation  became  painfully 
apparent  as  he  pawed  over  his  wardrobe.  His  pre-war 
clothes  had  served  nicely  to  wear  about  the  cannery. 
But  they  were  hopelessly  out  of  style.  Why  hadn't 
he  taken  the  time  to  have  had  something  decent  made 
in  Port  Angeles  instead  of  taking  the  first  thing  in 
'hand-me-downs'  which  the  salesman  had  offered  ?  He 
surveyed  the  suit  ruefully.  Then  he  reflected  that  his 
errand  was  purely  one  of  business  and  hastily  donned 
the  garments. 

A  nasty  fit,  he  admitted  to  himself,  as  he  looked 
into  the  mirror.  He'd  like  to  get  his  hands  on  the  man 
who  talked  him  into  it.  He  looked  at  his  shoes.  They 
too  caused  him  a  commensurate  amount  of  worry. 
Built  on  lines  of  comfort  they  displayed  a  total  dis- 

160 


BUSINESS  AND  PLEASURE  161 

regard  of  fashion.  The  longer  he  examined  his  attire 
the  more  conscious  he  became  of  its  defects.  Turning 
from  the  glass  he  walked  with  disgust  from  the  room. 

The  moon  was  shining  bright  when  Gregory 
reached  the  Lang  cottage.  Pausing  on  the  graveled 
walk  to  reef  in  his  vest,  he  walked  up  the  steps  and 
fumbled  about  for  the  bell. 

Dickie  welcomed  him  at  the  door. 

"I  hardly  knew  you  in  those  clothes,"  she  began. 
"They  do  make  a  difference,  don't  they?'* 

Gregory  pulled  his  coat  closer  about  him  and 
agreed  that  they  did.  Then  he  noticed  that  the  girl 
had  discarded  her  man's  attire  and  was  clothed  in  a 
plain  white  dress.  In  the  light  of  the  little  hallway  her 
hair  gleamed  like  dull  gold. 

She  led  the  way  into  a  small  living-room  upon  the 
floor  of  which  a  number  of  vari-colored  rag  rugs  were 
scattered  about.  By  a  big  sewing  table  sat  a  little 
woman  in  black.  A  light  shawl  draped  her  shoulders 
and  a  white  cap  covered  her  gray-threaded  hair.  At 
their  entrance  she  laid  aside  her  knitting  and  smiled. 

"This  is  Mr.  Gregory,  Aunt  Mary,"  Dickie 
announced  in  a  loud  voice.  To  Gregory  she  added : 
"Miss  Lang,  my  father's  sister.  She  is  very  hard  of 
hearing." 

Gregory  bowed  as  he  took  the  hand  Miss  Lang 
extended. 

"I'm  glad  to  know  you,"  she  said.  "Real  glad. 
Your  father  was  one  of  my  few  friends.  We  enjoyed 
many  pleasant  games  of  checkers  together." 


162  EL  DIABLO 

Her  keen  gray  eyes  appraised  him  while  she  spoke 
and  under  the  frankness  of  her  stare,  Gregory  felt  his 
coat  collar  slowly  pulling  away  from  his  neck. 
Passing  a  hand  nervously  to  the  lapel  he  jerked  the 
garment  into  place  while  he  responded  to  her  greeting. 

"Richard  all  over  again/'  announced  Miss  Lang 
when  she  had  finished  her  inspection.  "The  same 
eyes,  the  square  chin.  Even  the  same  nervous  manner 
of  hitching  at  your  clothes." 

"Aunt  Mary!"  Dickie  expostulated.  "You're  too 
personal.  You " 

But  Miss  Lang  went  on  with  a  smile  which  put  her 
guest  wholly  at  his  ease :  "You  won't  mind  what  an 
old  lady  like  me  says,  I'm  sure.  I  always  told  your 
father  just  what  I  thought.  And  I'm  going  to  do  the 
same  with  you." 

Gregory  listened  attentively  while  she  told  him 
of  her  first  meeting  with  his  father.  While  she  spoke 
his  eyes  traveled  curiously  to  the  high-backed  organ 
and  the  what-not  beyond.  Richard  Gregory  had 
described  the  Lang  home  as  a  model  of  neatness  and 
old-fashioned  charm.  His  son  went  further.  The 
room  possessed  a  personality.  It  was  not  only  livable 
but  lovable  as  well.  The  very  atmosphere  breathed  a 
benediction. 

"Do  you  play  checkers  ?" 

Miss  Lang's  voice  recalled  Gregory  to  himself.  He 
shook  his  head. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  began. 

"No  you're  not,"  put  in  Dickie  quietly.     "You're 


BUSINESS  AND  PLEASURE  163 

lucky.  Don't  ever  learn.  Aunt  Mary  never  gave  your 
father  a  chance  to  say  a  word.  She  had  her  board  out 
when  she  heard  him  in  the  hall." 

A  knock  on  the  front  door  interrupted  Miss  Lang's 
request  for  her  checker-board  and  Dickie  hurried  out. 

"I  can  teach  you  in  no  time,"  Aunt  Mary  was 
saying.  But  Gregory  was  listening  to  the  sound  of  a 
man's  voice  in  the  hallway.  Then  came  the  girl's 
laugh. 

"I  wasn't  angry  at  all,  Jack.  Just  cranky. 
But  I'm  glad  you  came  up  just  the  same  and  thanks 
for  the  candy." 

She  reentered  the  room  followed  by  McCoy. 
McCoy  stopped  with  surprise  as  he  caught  sight  of 
Gregory.  Nodding  casually,  he  went  over  to  greet 
Miss  Lang. 

Aunt  Mary  welcomed  McCoy  warmly.  Then  she 
addressed  her  niece. 

"Bring  us  the  board,  Josephine.  Kenneth  can 
watch  and  I'll  explain  the  game  as  we  go  along." 

McCoy  sank  into  a  chair  and  passed  a  hand  wearily 
over  his  eyes. 

"I  have  a  headache,"  he  shouted.  "Don't  think 
I'd  better  play  to-night." 

"You've  been  working  too  hard,"  Aunt  Mary 
retorted.  "Nothing  like  a  good  game  of  checkers  for 
relaxation." 

Dickie  was  already  on  her  way  for  the  board.  As 
she  passed  Gregory  he  saw  that  her  eyes  were 
sparkling. 


164  EL  DIABLO 

'That's  right,  Jack/'  she  called  back.  "Leave  it 
to  Aunt  Mary  to  prescribe  for  your  headache.  She 
knows/' 

As  McCoy  drew  up  to  the  board  Gregory  noticed 
that  he  was  attired  in  close-fitting  clothes  of  ultra- 
fashionable  cut.  As  he  saw  McCoy  look  him  over  he 
became  ill  at  ease  and  moved  his  chair  farther  from  the 
light.  Dickie  sensed  his  embarrassment  and  noting 
that  neither  man  appeared  to  enjoy  himself,  strove  to 
make  her  guests  feel  more  at  home.  Both  men  she 
knew  were  vitally  interested  in  the  operation  of  the 
cannery.  And  Gregory,  at  her  request,  had  brought 
up  the  balance-sheet.  A  discussion  of  business  affairs 
would  relieve  the  situation  and  at  the  same  time  rescue 
McCoy  from  Aunt  Mary's  checker-board.  The  rapid 
termination  of  the  first  game  gave  her  a  chance  to 
interrupt. 

"I  asked  Mr.  Gregory  to  bring  up  a  business  state 
ment  to-night,  Aunt  Mary;  you'd  like  to  see  it, 
wouldn't  you?  I  know  Jack  would." 

Miss  Lang  nodded  and  promptly  laid  aside  the 
board. 

"Very  much,"  she  answered.  "I've  always  been 
interested  in  that  business  and  I  understand  this  young 
man  is  making  it  pay." 

McCoy  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  to  learn  it  was 
merely  business  which  had  brought  Gregory  to  see 
Dickie  Lang. 

At  the  girl's  reference  to  the  object  of  his  errand, 
Gregory  unbuttoned  his  coat  and  delved  into  his  pocket 


BUSINESS  AND  PLEASURE  165 

for  the  paper.  He  must  have  put  it  in  his  vest.  Again 
his  fingers  failed  to  find  the  missing  document.  He 
became  conscious  of  a  prickly  sensation  creeping 
slowly  over  his  flesh.  Where  had  he  left  that  darned 
paper  anyway?  Suddenly  he  remembered.  In  his 
mortification  over  his  attire  he  had  left  the  statement 
lying  on  his  dresser.  He  looked  up  to  meet  all  eyes 
fixed  expectantly  upon  him.  Then  he  leaned  back  in 
his  chair  and  tried  to  smile. 

"I  guess  the  joke's  on  me/'  he  said.  "I  came  away 
in  such  a  hurry  I  forgot  it." 

Dickie  laughed  at  his  discomfiture  until  the  tears 
shone  in  her  eyes,  while  McCoy  regarded  his  employer 
with  suspicion.  Aunt  Mary  finished  polishing  her 
spectacles  and  settled  back  to  listen. 

"I'm  all  ready  to  hear  it,"  she  announced.  "Per 
haps  you  had  better  come  nearer  so  you  will  not  have 
to  speak  so  loud." 

Dickie  came  to  Gregory's  rescue  and  explained  the 
situation  to  her  aunt.  Then  she  added  in  a  low  voice : 

"You  must  have  been  stung  by  another  of  those 
ideas  of  yours." 

During  the  remainder  of  his  visit  Kenneth  Gregory 
was  content  to  remain  in  the  background.  McCoy 
made  a  few  efforts  at  conversation  as  he  noted  Aunt 
Mary's  eyes  roving  longingly  in  the  direction  of  the 
checker-board.  Then  Miss  Lang,  much  to  every  one's 
relief,  began  to  monopolize  the  conversation.  Beckon 
ing  Gregory  closer,  she  said : 


,  166  EL  DIABLO 

"I  want  to  give  you  just  one  bit  of  advice  though 
I  don't  suppose  you'll  heed  it  coming  from  an  old  lady 
like  me." 

As  Gregory  encouraged  her  to  go  on,  she 
exclaimed : 

"Stay  away  from  Diablo  Island."  Seeing  that  she 
had  aroused  his  interest,  she  went  on :  "You're  going 
to  ask  me  why,  and  I'll  have  to  answer  that  I  don't 
know  except  that  it  is  a  dangerous  place  and  has  been 
the  cause  of  a  number  of  strange  accidents  during  the 
past  few  years.  I  used  to  warn  my  brother  to  stay 
away  from  there.  He  only  laughed  at  my  fears — at 
first.  When  he  lost  the  Kingfisher  at  El  Diablo  he 
called  it  bad  luck.  Any  boat  was  liable  to  be  run  down, 
he  said.  Then  came  the  wreck  of  the  Crane  off  the 
south  coast  of  the  island  and  not  a  body  ever 
recovered." 

"Aunt  Mary  thinks  there's  ghosts  and  everything 
else  at  Diablo,"  Dickie  whispered.  "If  you  give  her 
any  encouragement,  she's  as  bad  as  my  fishermen." 

Gregory  noticed  that  although  the  girl's  wrords 
were  intended  to  ridicule  the  idea,  the  expression  of 
her  face  showed  that  her  aunt's  words  were  not 
regarded  by  her  in  the  light  of  idle  gossip. 

"For  a  time  after  that,"  Miss  Lang  continued, 
"my  brother  stayed  away  from  Diablo.  When  fish 
were  scarce  he  went  back.  He  hadn't  had  his  nets  out 
a  week  before  he  lost  them  all.  No  one  ever  knew 
what  became  of  them.  Will  was  getting  worried 
though  he  tried  not  to  show  it.  He  was  about  ready 


BUSINESS  AND  PLEASURE  167 

to  give  it  up  when  your  father  bought  the  cannery  and 
came  to  Legonia.  For  a  while  after  that  fishing  was 
good  everywhere.  As  long  as  they  stayed  away  from 
that  accursed  island  things  went  well.  But  they  were 
not  satisfied.  So  they  sent  the  Eagle  over  there.  The 
last  they  heard  of  her  she  was  anchored  in  Northwest 
Harbor." 

The  room  grew  very  still  as  the  old  lady  continued : 

"That  worried  them.  Because  they  could  not  find 
out  what  became  of  her.  The  fishermen  began  to 
refuse  to  go  there  and  I  thanked  God  it  was  all  over. 
Then  one  night  Will  and  your  father  went  out  to 
Diablo  in  the  Gull.  Why  they  went,  heaven  only  will 
ever  know." 

She  rose  slowly  and  walked  to  the  door. 

"She  won't  sleep  a  wink  to-night,"  exclaimed 
Dickie  as  the  door  closed  on  her  aunt.  "I  must  look 
after  her." 

When  the  girl  returned  a  few  minutes  later  she 
found  Gregory  and  McCoy  discussing  business. 
Gregory  remained  on  his  feet  at  her  entrance. 

"I  must  be  going,"  he  said.  "I  have  a  lot  of  work 
to  do." 

Bidding  McCoy  good  night,  he  followed  Dickie  to 
the  hall. 

'Tin  glad  you  came  up  even  if  you  did  forget  the 
balance-sheet.  Come  up  again  any  time  you're  not 
too  busy." 

With  the  girl's  words  in  his  ears,  Gregory  walked 
into  the  moonlight.  The  evening  had  not  been  a  com- 


i68  EL  DIABLO 

plete  failure  after  all.  As  he  turned  his  steps  in  the 
direction  of  the  town  his  mind  was  wholly  engrossed 
with  the  events  of  the  past  two  hours.  How  Aunt 
Mary  did  hate  Diablo.  Had  the  girl  noticed  how 
badly  his  clothes  fit  him  in  comparison  with  McCoy's? 
Why  had  Jack  appeared  so  grouchy? 

He  stopped  short  in  his  descent  of  the  hill  road  as 
he  saw  a  man  walking  unsteadily  toward  him.  Moving 
to  one  side  he  watched  the  drunken  fisherman  stumble 
on,  heard  the  low  mumbling  of  his  voice.  Then  the 
moonlight  fell  full  upon  the  man's  face. 

It  was  Boris,  the  crazy  Russian. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  BAITED  PAWN 

ALL  the  many  saloons  that  made  up  Legonia's 
water-front  the  "Red  Paint"  was  the  favorite 
resort  among  the  alien  fishermen.  The  universal  popu 
larity  of  the  establishment  was  due  mainly  to  three 
causes.  The  boss  owned  the  place  and  paid  off  there 
between  moons.  Credit  was  freely  given  to  all  fisher 
men  in  good  standing,  and  thirdly,  Mascola's  empo 
rium  enjoyed  full  police  protection. 

During  the  evening  when  Gregory  made  his  first 
call  at  the  Lang  hill  the  tide  of  revelry  at  the  "Red 
Paint"  was  at  the  flood.  It  was  pay-day  and  the  boss 
was  in  high  good  humor.  Either  occurrence  was 
always  good  for  a  number  of  rounds  of  free  drinks. 
But  when  Mascola  was  happy  on  pay-day,  the  liberality 
of  the  "Red  Paint"  was  indeed  prodigal. 

And  Mascola  was  happy.  Within  the  frosted 
glass  enclosure  that  marked  off  his  saloon-office  from 
the  bar,  the  Italian  sat  at  his  desk  in  a  genial  glow  of 
good  humor.  The  glow  was  purely  physical,  superin 
duced  by  the  rapidly  disappearing  contents  of  the  slim- 
nosed  bottle  which  stood  at  his  elbow.  The  good 
humor  was  due  to  other  causes. 

169 


1 70  EL  DIABLO 

As  he  re-filled  his  glass,  Mascola  smiled.  It  hadn't 
been  such  a  bad  day  at  that.  He'd  showed  somebody 
something  about  albacore  fishing.  And  he'd  show 
them  a  lot  more  before  he  got  through.  Things  were 
coming  his  way  too  from  other  sources.  He  took  out 
his  leather  wallet  and  ran  over  a  number  of  bills  of 
high  denomination.  Then  he  took  another  drink  and 
smiled  at  the  ceiling.  It  had  been  such  easy  money. 
Much  easier  than  fishing. 

A  knock  sounded  at  the  street-door.  Mascola 
shoved  the  wallet  again  into  his  pocket  and  hastily 
removed  his  bottle  of  Amontillado. 

"Come  in,"  he  called. 

Boris  entered,  clumsily  filling  the  doorway  with 
his  great  bulk  and  bringing  with  him  a  strong  odor  of 
garlic  and  Jap  sake.  For  a  moment  he  stood  on  the 
threshold,  blinking  stupidly.  Then  he  pulled  the  door 
closed  with  a  bang. 

Mascola's  eyes  grew  hard  as  he  dropped  his  hand 
into  a  drawer  of  his  desk  which  stood  open. 

"Stay  where  you  are,"  he  commanded.  "What  do 
you  want?" 

"Job,"  muttered  the  Russian  thickly. 

Mascola  shook  his  head  and  an  annoyed  frown 
darkened  his  brow.  "Go  home,"  he  said.  "You're 
drunk.  You're  no  good.  I  fired  you.  Don't  want  to 
talk." 

Boris  made  no  move  to  comply  with  his  order. 
His  small  eyes  roved  restlessly  about  the  room  for  a 
moment,  then  came  to  rest  on  the  Italian. 


THE  BAITED  PAWN  171 

"Boys  making  fool  with  me  all  time,"  he  said. 
"Say  I  can  no  lick  woman.  I  get  damn  mad.  You  give 
me  job.  I  show  you/' 

Mascola  shook  his  head.  Leaning  closer  to  the 
swaying  figure,  he  said  in  a  low  voice:  "Show  me 
first." 

Boris's  face  became  purple  with  rage  as  the  import 
of  Mascola's  answer  filtered  into  his  thick  skull.  He 
clenched  his  huge  hands  and  raised  them  above  his 
head,  mumbling  all  the  while  in  his  own  tongue.  Then 
his  arms  fell  to  his  sides  and  his  pig-like  eyes  gleamed 
with  belated  comprehension.  Licking  his  dry  lips,  he 
said :  "Give  me  drink.  I  show  you  to-night." 

The  Italian  slippel  a  hand  into  his  pocket  and  tossed 
him  a  two-dollar  bill.  Stumbling  to  the  door  the  Rus 
sian  found  Mascola  close  by  his  side. 

"Wait,"  he  commanded.     "Sit  down.     There." 

He  pointed  to  a  chair  screened  from  the  street 
entrance  by  a  large  steel  safe.  When  Boris  had 
deposited  his  great  bulk  therein,  Mascola  walked  to 
the  door  and  looked  up  and  down  the  street.  Then  he 
returned  and  grasped  the  Russian  by  the  arm. 

"Go,"  he  said.  As  Boris  reached  the  door  he 
shoved  him  out  with  the  whisper: 

"Don't  forget.    You've  got  to  show  me." 

Joe  Blagg  was  among  the  last  of  Mascola's  men  to 
come  for  his  money.  And  though  he  said  nothing 
when  he  signed  the  pay-roll,  Blagg  nursed  a  grouch 
against  his  employer.  Mascola  had  cursed  him  out 


172  EL  DIABLO 

that  morning  and  no  livin'  dago  could  do  that.  He'd 
get  square,  or  his  name  wasn't  Joe  Blagg. 

The  bartender  shoved  a  black  bottle  toward  him  as 
he  pocketed  his  money.  "Boss's  treat,"  he  announced. 

Blagg's  animosity  thawed  sufficiently  to  permit 
him  to  accept  the  proffered  drink,  then  flared  again 
under  the  influence  of  the  fiery  liquor.  He  called  for 
another  and  gulped  it  down.  Then  Mascola's  whisky 
began  to  talk.  He'd  make  the  dago  eat  his  words. 
That's  what  he'd  do.  Two  more  drinks  and  he  decided 
to  have  it  out  with  Mascola  at  once. 

"Where's  boss?"  he  inquired  thickly. 

The  bartender  jerked  his  shorn  head  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  frosted  glass  enclosure. 

Blagg  drew  back,  his  ardor  somewhat  chilled  to 
find  his  quarry  so  near.  Perhaps  it  was  better  to 
figure  out  just  what  he  wras  going  to  say  before  he 
tackled  the  boss.  Deciding  that  he  could  plan  better  in 
the  open  air,  he  walked  unsteadily  to  the  swinging 
doors  and  staggered  across  the  street.  There  he  leaned 
against  the  bulkhead  and  looked  back  at  the  Red  Paint. 

A  flash  of  light  illumined  the  side-walk  in  front 
of  the  saloon  office  and  Blagg  saw  Mascola's  figure 
silhouetted  in  the  open  doorway.  He  was  looking  up 
and  down  the  street.  As  the  fisherman  drew  back 
into  the  shadow  the  Italian  disappeared  to  return  a 
moment  later  shoving  a  burly  figure  before  him. 

Blagg  became  even  more  discreet  as  he  recognized 
Mascola's  guest.  Boris  was  a  bigger  man  by  far  than 
himself.  And  yet  Mascola  was  putting  him  out  with 


THE  BAITED  PAWN  173 

no  trouble  at  all.  The  observation  had  a  sobering 
effect  upon  the  fisherman.  His  militant  air  changed 
quickly  to  one  of  craft.  He'd  quit  the  boss  and  pull 
a  lot  of  the  boys  along  with  him.  He  could  hit  the 
dago  better  that  way.  They  were  all  pretty  sore  at 
being  bossed  around  by  a  "furinor"  anyway.  And 
work  was  plenty  up  around  Frisco.  He'd  round  up  a 
bunch  of  the  boys  right  away. 

With  that  idea  in  view  he  walked  along  the  water 
front  and  turned  again  to  the  row  of  saloons.  Then 
he  noticed  that  Boris  was  lurching  along  ahead  of 
him.  He  saw  the  Russian  push  open  the  door  of  the 
"Buffalo"  and  heard  the  derisive  roar  from  within 
which  greeted  his  entrance.  Scenting  amusement  at 
Boris's  expense,  Blagg  followed.  When  he  elbowed 
his  way  through  the  press  of  fishermen  who  thronged 
the  "Buffalo"  bar,  he  saw  the  Russian  surrounded  by 
a  jeering  crowd. 

"Got  a  job  yet,  Boris?"  some  one  called. 

"He's  workin'  for  the  Lang  girl  now,"  put  in 
another. 

Boris  snarled  and,  flinging  his  tormentors  away 
from  him,  made  his  way  to  the  bar,  jabbering  excitedly; 
in  Russian  to  Pete  Ankovitch. 

Blagg  moved  nearer. 

"What's  he  sayin',  Pete?"  he  asked. 

Ankovitch  laughed. 

"He  say  everybody  go  to  hell,"  he  interpreted. 
"He  say  he  show  Mascola  he  ain't  'fraid  of  no  woman." 

Blagg  strove  to  focus  his  mind  on  the  Russian's 


174  EL  DIABLO 

words.  Boris  was  sore  as  a  boiled  oil,  crazy  as  a  coot. 
And  he  had  it  in  for  the  Lang  girl  for  causing  him  to 
get  the  can.  The  Russian's  reference  to  Mascola 
caused  the  furrows  in  Blagg's  brow  to  deepen.  Both 
of  them  were  sore  at  the  girl.  Were  they  framing  up? 
If  they  were  he'd  block  the  boss's  game.  He'd  wise 
her.  She'd  always  shot  straight  enough  with  him 
anyway,  and  he  was  a  fool  to  have  ever  quit  her.  If 
Mascola  was  baiting  the  Russian  to  pull  off  some  dirty 
work  he'd 

Blagg  paused  in  his  tentative  plans  for  outwitting 
Mascola  as  his  eye  fell  on  Neilson.  There  was  the  man 
he  wanted  to  see.  Swan  could  swing  the  Swedes  into 
quitting  the  dago.  All  thought  of  Boris  vanished  from 
Blagg's  mind  as  he  drew  Neilson  aside  and  conferred 
confidentially  with  the  big  Swede  in  a  drunken 
whisper.  When  he  looked  about  for  the  Russian  some 
time  later,  Boris  was  gone. 

Blagg  drained  the  contents  of  his  last  glass  with  a 
wry  face,  and  walked  unsteadily  to  the  door.  Col 
liding  with  a  man  on  the  sidewalk,  he  regained  his 
poise  by  leaning  heavily  against  a  sandwich  sign-board. 

"Hello,  Blagg.    Seen  any  of  my  men  inside?" 

Blagg  shoved  back  his  cap  and  eyed  the  speaker 
with  drunken  suspicion.  When  he  recognized  the 
cannery  owner,  a  furtive  light  crept  into  his  eyes  and 
he  beckoned  Gregory  closer.  Gregory  noted  the  mys 
terious  mien  and  promptly  credited  it  to  the  man's 
state  of  intoxication.  He  was  on  the  point  of  hurrying 
on  when  Blagg's  words  stayed  him. 


THE  BAITED  PAWN  175 

"Tell  Lang  girl  t'  look  out  for  'self." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

Gregory  grasped  him  by  the  arm  and  whirled  him 
about. 

"Was  in  s'loon,"  Blagg  muttered,  striving  to 
focus  his  bleary  eyes  upon  his  auditor.  "Damn  Rus 
sian  there,  too.  Boys's  kiddin*  him  an'  Boris  tol'  'em 
he  was't  'fraid  no  woman.  Said  he'd  show  'em." 

"Does  he  live  over  there?"  Gregory  asked 
quickly,  pointing  toward  the  Lang  hill. 

Blagg  shook  his  head  and  nodded  in  the  opposite 
direction. 

"Down  there,"  he  corrected.     "Think  he " 

But  Gregory  did  not  wait  to  hear  what  Blagg 
thought. 

Blagg  looked  after  him  stupidly.  He  had  had  no 
time  to  speak  of  his  hatred  or  suspicion  of  Mascola. 
But  he'd  show  the  dago  yet. 

A  crowd  of  fishermen  lumbered  along  the  sidewalk 
toward  him,  talking  excitedly.  Leaning  against  the 
sign-board,  Blagg  was  able  to  gather  from  their  con 
versation  that  a  fight  had  just  occurred  at  the  Red 
Paint.  Some  one  had  tried  to  get  square  with  the 
boss  and  Mascola  had  knifed  him. 

Cold  sweat  broke  out  on  Joe  Blagg's  forehead. 
To  his  whirling  brain  came  other  instances  he  had 
heard  of  how  Mascola  always  got  square  with  those 
who  opposed  him.  Blagg's  whiskyfied  courage  began 
to  ooze.  Perhaps  he  had  gone  too  far.  Suppose 
Neilson,  with  a  desire  to  get  in  strong  with  the  boss, 


176  EL  DIABLO 

should  tell  Mascola  that  he,  Joe  Blagg,  was  trying  to 
start  a  strike  among  the  alien  fishermen?  And  a 
Swede  liked  to  talk  too.  Why  not  get  out  of  town  for 
a  while  till  the  thing  blew  over?  He  wasn't  afraid  of 
the  dago  and  his  whole  crowd.  But  what  was  the 
use  of  starting  a  row  ?  Besides  he  was  ready  to  move 
anyway.  He  reflected  suddenly  that  the  midnight 
train  for  Frisco  stopped  at  Legonia  on  signal.  That 
would  give  him  time  to  throw  his  stuff  together.  He 
had  already  draw^i  his  money.  Why  not  hit  the  grit? 

As  Jack  McCoy  took  his  way  down  the  hillside  he 
was  acutely  conscious  of  the  fact  that  the  evening  had 
been  a  distinct  disappointment.  Why  was  Gregory 
there  anyway?  That  talk  about  his  forgetting  his 
papers  sounded  mighty  thin.  How  many  times  had 
the  boss  been  there  before  ?  What  was  the  matter  with 
Dick  to-night?  She  acted  kind  of  funny,  didn't  seem 
to  care  whether  he  stayed  any  longer  or  not. 

McCoy  stopped  by  the  roadside  as  he  caught  sight 
of  a  man  running  hastily  along  one  of  the  streets  lead 
ing  from  the  town.  Whoever  the  fellow  was  he  was 
sure  in  a  hurry  the  way  he  was  cutting  'cross  lots. 
As  the  runner  came  under  the  rays  of  the  corner  arc- 
light,  McCoy  started  and  peered  intently  after  the 
departing  figure. 

It  sure  looked  like  Gregory.  And  he  was  angling 
in  the  direction  of  the  Lang  hill.  The  idea  clung 
tenaciously.  When  he  reached  his  rooming-house  it 
became  an  obsession.  He  decided  to  find  out  if  the 


THE  BAITED  PAWN  177 

runner  could  have  been  his  employer.  Calling  up  the 
cannery  it  was  some  time  before  a  sleepy  voice 
answered  his  summons. 

"Boss  ain't  here.  Went  out  at  eight  and  ain't  been 
back  since.  Want  to  leave  message  ?" 

McCoy  snapped  up  the  receiver  and  walked  slowly 
into  his  room.  So  it  was  Gregory.  Where  had  he 
been  going  at  this  time  of  night  ?  And  on  the.  run, 
too.  The  forgetting  of  the  paper  was  only  a  frame- 
up.  Dick  had  acted  funny.  Now  he  knew  it  was 
because  she  wanted  to  get  rid  of  him. 

He  sat  on  the  bed,  making  no  effort  to  remove  his 
clothes.  You're  a  poor  fish,  something  whispered. 
Why  don't  you  go  and  find  out  if  they're  double- 
crossing  you?  McCoy  tried  not  to  listen.  For  a 
long  time  he  stared  moodily  at  the  floor.  Then  he 
rose  and  threw  off  his  coat.  Hastily  replaced  it  and 
hurried  to  the  door.  He  was  ashamed  of  his  suspic 
ions.  But  he  simply  had  to  find  out. 

There  was  a  light  still  burning  in  the  Lang  cot 
tage  when  Gregory  turned  into  the  walk.  Perhaps 
he  was  foolish  to  have  returned.  Still  it  would  do  no 
harm  to  warn  the  girl. 

As  he  wrent  up  the  steps  he  saw  Miss  Lang  walking 
up  and  down  the  little  hall.  Tapping  loudly,  he  sum 
moned  her  to  the  door. 

"Could  I  speak  to  Miss  Dickie  a  moment?"  he 
shouted.  "It  is  something  important." 

Aunt  Mary  came  out  on  the  porch. 


178  EL  DIABLO 

"If  you  wait  a  moment/'  she  said,  "my  niece  will 
be  back.  She  left  some  time  ago  to  take  some  medicine 
over  to  one  of  our  neighbor's  sick  babies." 

Gregory's  fears  multiplied. 

"Where  did  she  go?" 

"To  the  Swanson  place  just  over  the  hill.  It's  the 
first  place  you'll  come  to  before  you  reach  the  Russian 
Valley." 

"I'll  go  meet  her." 

He  turned   quickly   and   hurried   down   the   path. 

Reaching  the  brow  of  the  hill,  he  saw  the 
lights  of  the  Swanson  cottage  and  slowed  down  to  a 
walk.  His  fears  for  the  girl's  safety  were  apparently 
groundless.  The  valley  lay  before  him,  steeped  in 
moonlight.  No  sound  disturbed  the  stillness  save  the 
far-off  cry  of  the  screaming  gulls  and  the  monotonous 
murmur  of  the  distant  sea.  Walking  slowly  down  the 
road,  grown  high  on  both  sides  with  sage  and  cactus, 
he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  bulky  figure  in  the  path 
ahead. 

Looking  again  to  the  cottage  only  a  few  hundred 
yards  down  the  road,  Gregory  saw  the  light  flash  out 
from  an  open  door.  For  a  moment  it  shone  brightly, 
then  disappeared. 

As  the  man  in  the  roadway  heard  the  sound  of 
footsteps  behind  him,  he  stepped  quickly  to  the  brush 
and  faced  about.  Keeping  well  in  the  center  of  the 
path,  Gregory  went  steadily  on  with  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  clump  of  sage  which  sheltered  the  disappear 
ing  figure.  It  was  Boris,  without  a  doubt.  No  other 


THE  BAITED  PAWN  179 

man  about  Legonia  possessed  the  giant  proportions  of 
the  big  Russian. 

iBoris  glared  sullenly  from  the  brush  as  he  saw 
the  advancing  figure  hesitate  and  turn  toward  him. 
Then  he  recognized  the  young  cannery  owner.  What 
chance  would  he  have  to  show  Mascola  now?  The 
intruder  threatened  the  defeat  of  his  cherished  plans. 
The  girl  he  sought  was  coming  up  the  hill.  A  few 
minutes  more  and 

"What  do  you  want,  Boris  ?" 

The  Russian's  answer  to  Gregory's  question  came 
in  a  guttural  snarl  as  he  staggered  from  the  sage  and 
flung  himself  upon  the  speaker. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  FANGS  OF  MASCOLA 

REGORY  leaped  nimbly  beyond  reach  of  the  Rus- 
sian's  waving  arms  and  placed  his  back  to  the 
moonlight.  Meeting  the  fisherman's  blind  rush  with 
a  quick  blow  to  his  heavy  jaw,  he  sidestepped  and 
struck  again.  Boris  blocked  the  fist  with  a  sweep  of 
his  long  arm  and  clinched.  For  an  instant  the  bodies 
of  the  two  men  rocked  in  the  gripping  power  of  the 
embrace.  Then  they  fell  to  the  roadway. 

Dickie  Lang  stopped  suddenly  as  she  saw  the 
struggling  figures  in  the  path.  A  fight  between  two 
drunken  fishermen  was  the  commonest  thing  in 
Legonia.  She'd  better  not  get  mixed  up  in  it.  They 
were  not  her  men.  She  knew  that.  None  of  her 
fisherman  lived  up  here  but  Swranson,  and  the  Swede 
she  knew  was  at  home.  Making  a  wide  detour 
through  the  brush  which  carried  her  beyond  sight  of 
the  scuffle,  she  hurried  on. 

"Where's  Dick,  Aunt  Mary?" 
There  was  a  note  in  Jack  McCoy's  voice  which 
made  Miss  Lang  regard  him  sharply  before  replying : 

180 


THE  FANGS  OF  MASCOLA  181 

"She's  gone  down  to  Swanson's,  John.  One  of 
the  babies  was  sick." 

"Has  Mr.  Gregory  been  back  since  I  left?  I'm 
looking  for  him." 

McCoy  was  ashamed  of  the  question.  Still  it  was 
better  to  find  out  from  Aunt  Mary  than  to  try  to 
explain  to  her  niece. 

"Yes.  He  left  only  a  few  minutes  ago.  He 
inquired  for  Josephine  and  when  I  told  him  where  she 
had  gone,  he  said  he  would  go  to  meet  her." 

Shaking  his  head  weakly  at  Aunt  Mary's  question 
if  anything  was  wrong,  McCoy  turned  slowly  and 
walked  down  the  path.  Everything  was  wrong.  Dick 
had  ditched  him  for  Gregory.  They'd  framed  it  to 
get  him  out  of  the  way.  Well,  it  was  a  cinch  he 
wouldn't  butt  in.  His  reflections  were  cut  short  by 
the  sight  of  a  white  figure  walking  toward  him. 

"Hello,  Jack.     What's  the  matter?" 

McCoy  stared.     Dickie  Lang  was  alone. 

"I'm  looking  for  Mr.  Gregory,"  he  faltered. 

"Haven't  seen  him  since  he  left  the  house." 

The  girl  was  by  his  side,  looking  anxiously  into  his 
face. 

"Anything  wrong,  Jack?"  she  asked  quickly. 

McCoy  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  said.  "I  just  wanted  to  talk  to  him  about 
changing  the  pack  in  the  morning.  Your  aunt  told  me 
he  came  back  and  went  to  meet  you." 

Dickie's  surprise  entered  into  her  voice  as  she  said : 


1 82  EL  DIABLO 

"That's  funny.  I  walked  all  the  way  from  Swan- 
son's  and  I  didn't  meet  him." 

As  she  ceased  speaking  came  a  sharp  remember- 
ance  of  the  two  figures  battling  in  the  roadway. 
Could  one  of  them  have  been  Kenneth  Gregory  ?  She 
expressed  her  fears  to  McCoy. 

McCoy  started  at  once  for  the  hill. 

"Go  back  to  the  house,  Dick,"  he  called  back. 
"I'll  go  down  there  and  see  what's  the  trouble." 

Dickie  followed  after  him. 

"I'm  going  too,"  she  said.  "I  should  have  gone 
back  and  told  Swanson  or " 

Her  words  were  interrupted  by  the  sharp  report  of 
a  gun  from  over  the  hill. 

McCoy  broke  into  a  run. 

"Go  back,"  he  cried.  "Hurry.  Get  your  gun. 
I'm  going  on." 

Boris  looked  stupidly  into  the  white  face  of 
Kenneth  Gregory  as  he  knelt  over  him.  Then  he  stag 
gered  to  his  feet  and  looked  up  and  down  the  road. 
As  the  possible  consequences  of  his  act  began  to  filter 
through  his  consciousness,  he  jumped  to  cover  in  the 
brush  and  ran  down  the  ravine  in  the  direction  of 
Russian  valley. 

When  Dickie  Lang  reached  the  spot  where  she  had 
seen  the  men  fighting  in  the  roadway,  she  found  Jack 
McCoy  bending  over  the  sprawling  figure  of  Kenneth 
Gregory. 

"Is  he  dead?" 


THE  FANGS  OF  MASCOLA  183 

McCoy  shook  his  head. 

"The  bullet  went  into  his  side,"  he  said.  "He's 
losing  a  lot  of  blood  but  he's  still  conscious.  Run 
down  to  Swanson's  and  phone  for  the  doctor.  Then 
have  Bill  come  and  help  me  move  him." 

While  McCoy  worked  to  staunch  the  flow  of  blood, 
the  girl  ran  to  carry  out  his  orders.  Remorse  gripped 
her  heart  as  she  raced  down  the  hill.  She  should  have 
gone  to  Gregory's  aid.  She  might  have  done  some 
thing.  At  least  she  could  have  discovered  the  identity 
of  his  assailant.  If  she  had  gone  at  once  for  Swanson, 
he  might  have  arrived  in  time  to  prevent  the  shot. 

When  she  reached  the  house  she  roused  the  Swede 
and  rushed  to  the  telephone,  giving  hasty  instructions 
to  the  fisherman  to  take  a  couple  of  oars  and  a  blanket 
and  go  at  once  to  McCoy's  assistance.  After  an  inter 
minable  period  of  waiting  she  was  able  to  get  in  com 
munication  with  Doctor  Kent.  Instructing  the  physi 
cian  to  come  at  once  to  the  Lang  cottage,  she  hurried 
away.  On  her  way  up  the  hill  she  met  McCoy  and 
Swanson  carrying  Gregory  on  the  improvised  stretcher. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  she  cried. 

The  Swede  started  to  explain.  His  house  was 
closest  and  they  were  quite  welcome  to  bring  the 
injured  man  there. 

The  girl  objected  with  decisive  emphasis. 

"I've  already  told  the  doctor  to  come  to  our 
house.  Aunt  Mary  is  the  best  nurse  in  the  country. 
Besides,  Bill,  you  have  your  hands  full  to-night  with 
Hulda." 


184  EL  DIABLO 

Mascola  paused  on  the  threshold  of  his  office  at 
the  Red  Paint  with  his  key  grating  in  the  lock.  Then 
he  placed  his  back  to  the  brick  wall  and  drew  his  knife 
as  he  saw  a  bulky  figure  coming  toward  him. 

"Stop  where  you  are,"  he  exclaimed  sharply. 
"What  do  you  want?" 

Boris  lunged  forward  and  Mascola  caught  him 
roughly  by  the  arm. 

"Get  out,  damn  you,"  he  cried.  "I  told  you  to  beat 
it." 

"Tried  to  get  girl,"  Boris  panted.  "Gregory  man 
there  too.  I  kill  him." 

Mascola  looked  hastily  about.  When  Boris  had 
ceased  mumbling,  the  Italian  ordered  after  a  moment's 
consideration :  "Shut  up.  Go  down  to  my  dock  the 
back  way.  Get  on  the  Lura.  Wait  there  for  me." 

As  the  Russian  slouched  down  the  street,  Mascola 
reopened  his  door  and  went  into  his  office.  Then  he 
got  Ankovitch  on  the  phone. 

"Come  down  to  the  boat  right  away,"  he  ordered. 
"I  want  you  to  get  right  out." 

Day  was  breaking  when  McCoy  stood  with  Dickie 
Lang  on  the  steps  of  the  Lang  cottage.  The  bullet  had 
been  found  and  removed.  Kenneth  Gregory  was  rest 
ing  as  well  as  could  be  expected.  There  was  danger 
only  through  blood-poisoning.  The  patient  was  young 
and  strong  and  should  recover.  The  doctor  from  Cen- 
terville  had  just  left  after  agreeing  with  the  local 
physician's  diagnosis. 


THE  FAXGS  OF  MASCOLA  185 

"And  now,"  McCoy  was  saying,  "as  there  is 
nothing  more  I  can  do  here  I'll  go  back  to  town.  It 
will  sure  be  up  to  me  from  now  on." 

Dickie  put  a  hand  on  his  arm  and  looked  earnestly 
into  his  eyes. 

"It  will  be  up  to  both  of  us,  Jack.  We've  simply 
got  to  keep  things  going  for  him.  I  might  have  saved 
him.  Now  it's  up  to  me  to  make  good." 

As  McCoy  walked  homeward  through  the  bright 
ening  light,  he  strove  to  consider  the  events  of  the 
night  in  their  proper  sequence,  but  his  brain  rioted  in 
a  jumble  of  confused  impressions.  He  owed  Kenneth 
Gregory  an  apology.  Now  that  the  boss  was  down  and 
out  it  was  up  to  every  one  to  do  their  level-darnedest. 
He'd  see  that  they  did,  too.  He  was  sorry  it  had  all 
happened.  Sorry  that  he  had  doubted.  Sorry  too  for 
other  things  which  he  would  not  admit,  even  to 
himself.  And  down  in  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  loyal 
though  it  was,  Jack  McCoy  was  sorry  that  Kenneth 
Gregory  had  not  been  taken  to  Swanson's. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  COST  OF  DEFEAT 

r  I  TIERE  are  periods  in  every  one's  life  when  the 

standard  measurements  of  time  are  hopelessly 
inadequate  fittingly  to  express  its  passing.  Minutes 
may  creep,  or  they  may  fly.  An  hour  stretches  into  a 
day  or  a  day  contracts  into  an  hour  directly  at  the  will 
of  circumstance. 

Kenneth  Gregory  found  this  to  be  true  during  his 
period  of  convalescence  at  the  Lang  cottage.  As  the 
days  went  by  he  found  himself  devising  a  simpler 
method  for  keeping  track  of  time.  There  were  hours 
when  Dickie  Lang  was  with  him,  and  hours  when  she 
was  not. 

His  moments  with  the  girl  were  always  too  short. 
And  he  was  surprised  to  find  that  they  never  appeared 
to  lengthen.  His  interest  in  Dickie,  he  told  himself, 
was  purely  impersonal.  She  told  him  of  just  the  things 
he  desired  to  hear  most  about.  Kept  him  in  touch 
with  his  world.  Brought  him  news  each  day  from  the 
cannery;  the  business  for  which  he  hungered  and 
fretted  during  each  minute  of  his  idle  hours. 

It  was  Dickie  Lang  who  had  told  him  of  the  search 
which  had  been  made  for  Boris,  a  search  which  had 

186 


THE  COST  OF  DEFEAT  187 

ended  in  failure.  The  Russian  had  fled,  leaving  no 
trace  of  his  whereabouts.  Blagg  also  was  missing,  so 
nothing  further  could  be  learned  from  that  source. 
Gossip  had  been  rife  in  the  fishing  village  over  the 
sudden  disappearance  of  the  two  men.  Then  the 
matter  was  apparently  forgotten,  giving  place  to  the 
excitement  caused  by  the  installation  of  the  first  radio- 
set  on  one  of  the  cannery  fishing  fleet. 

Gregory,  who  had  given  orders  for  a  trial  equip 
ment  before  the  accident,  was  elated  to  learn  from  the 
girl  that  the  innovation  was  proving  a  distinct  success. 
Other  sets  were  installed  and  the  practicability  of  the 
new  idea  was  demonstrated  beyond  the  shadow  of  a 
doubt.  To  quote  the  girl,  all  she  had  to  do  was  to 
"spot  the  fish,  click  out  the  signal  and  the  cannery 
boats  would  be  round  her  like  a  flock  of  gulls." 

Mascola,  she  told  Gregory,  had  regarded  the  new 
departure,  at  the  outset,  as  something  of  a  joke.  Rock 
too  had  ridiculed  the  idea  openly.  But  when  the  can 
nery  fleet  got  fish  \vhile  the  Italian's  boats  came  in 
but  scantily-laden,  Mascola's  laugh  changed  to  a  scowl 
and  Rock's  flabby  forehead  was  creased  with  worried 
lines. 

With  the  aid  of  the  radio  the  "patchy"  schools 
along  the  coast  had  been  fished  to  good  advantage 
while  Mascola's  fleet  were  forced  to  cruise  as  far  as 
Diablo  and  San  Anselmo  in  order  to  obtain  fish 
enough  to  supply  the  rival  cannery. 

From  McCoy's  occasional  visits  Gregory  had 
learned  that  the  plant  was  running  to  its  full  capacity. 


1 88  EL  DIABLO 

Upon  the  subject,  however,  of  sales  and  orders,  the 
house-manager  was  extremely  reticent. 

So  it  was  that  Gregory  passed  the  long  days  of  his 
confinement,  rejoicing  with  Dickie  Lang  over  the 
growing  success  of  the  outside  end  and  worrying  over 
McCoy's  evasion  when  he  was  questioned  concerning 
the  disposition  of  the  finished  product.  And  all  the 
while  longing  for  the  time  to  come  when  he  would 
be  permitted  to  get  back  into  the  harness. 

"There's  no  use  letting  you  go  with  instructions  to 
take  it  easy,"  Doctor  Kent  had  said.  "I  know  your 
kind.  When  I  turn  you  out  I  want  you  to  be  going 
strong." 

In  that  opinion,  Aunt  Mary  concurred.  But  the 
time  came  at  last  when  Gregory  was  permitted  to  leave 
the  Lang  cottage  and  return  to  the  cannery.  Fearing 
a  reversal  of  the  verdict  rendered  in  his  favor,  he  set 
out  at  once.  At  some  distance  from  the  cannery  he 
stopped  and  inhaled  the  fish-laden  atmosphere  with  a 
singing  heart.  Once,  he  remembered,  the  odor  had 
sickened  him.  Now  it  came  like  a  breath  from 
Heaven.  It  stirred  his  soul,  quickened  his  pulse.  He 
sucked  in  the  tinctured  air  greedily.  It  was  life  itself. 
A  life  that  was  full  and  free,  teeming  with  opportunity, 
filled  with  work  and  fight. 

"Long  on  fish,  but  short  on  sales." 

Gregory  expressed  the  state  of  his  business  with 
blunt  accuracy  as  he  stood  with  McCoy  in  the  crowded 
warehouse. 


THE  COST  OF  DEFEAT  189 

McCoy  admitted  the  truth  of  the  owner's  state 
ment. 

"We  didn't  want  to  worry  you  while  you  were 
sick/'  he  explained,  "but  you  can  see  just  where  we 
stand.  Something  has  sure  gone  wrong  with  the 
selling  end.  Dick's  getting  the  fish.  I'm  canning 
them.  But  we  can't  sell  them." 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  Western  people?" 
Gregory  asked  quickly.  "I  thought  they  were  strong 
for  us." 

McCoy  shrugged.  "So  did  I,"  he  answered.  "But 
a  few  days  after  you  got  hurt  they  quit  us  cold  with 
no  explanation.  When  we  fell  down  on  that  first  big 
order  of  albacore,  Winfield  &  Camby  lost  interest  and 
I  haven't  been  able  to  get  a  flutter  out  of  them  since. 
The  other  dealers  seem  to  be  afraid  of  us  for  some 
reason.  They  come  down  and  look  us  over,  but  that 
is  all." 

McCoy  scowled  at  the  huge  stacks  of  shining  tins 
and  shook  his  head.  "It's  got  me,"  he  admitted. 
"We're  putting  out  a  first-class  article  but  we  can't 
unload  it.  I've  got  a  hunch  somebody's  plugging 
against  us."  Noting  the  worried  lines  which  were 
finding  their  way  to  Gregory's  face  at  his  words,  he 
wrent  on  hastily: 

"I'm  sorry  to  have  you  come  back  into  such  a  tangle 
as  this.  I  did  my  best  but  you  see  I  didn't  have  a 
minute  to  get  out  and  take  care  of  the  sales." 

"Don't  say  a  word,  Jack,"  Gregory  interrupted. 
"You've  done  more  than  your  part.  Every  man  of 


190  EL  DIABLO 

you  and  every  woman  too,"  he  added  quickly.  "I'll 
never  forget  it.  This  part  of  the  game  is  up  to  me. 
I'm  feeling  fit  now.  Keen  to  get  going.  I  want  to 
look  things  over  for  a  few  minutes  in  the  office.  Then 
I'll  talk  with  you  again  and  let  you  know  what  I'm 
going  to  do  first." 

A  careful  examination  of  his  finances  convinced 
Gregory  of  the  seriousness  of  the  situation.  There 
was  only  one  thing  to  be  done.  He  must  visit  the 
jobbers  at  once. 

He  paused  abruptly  in  his  calculations  at  the  stac 
cato  bark  of  a  high-powered  motor.  Mascola,  he 
thought,  as  he  rose  and  walked  to  the  window.  What 
he  saw  through  the  glass  caused  him  to  stand  staring. 
Speeding  through  the  dancing  waters  of  the  sunlit  bay 
came  a  speed-launch,  heading  in  the  direction  of  the 
cannery  wharf.  But  it  was  not  the  Fuor  d'ltalia.  His 
eyes  followed  the  course  of  the  oncoming  stranger  and 
a  worried  frown  leaped  to  his  brow.  It  couldn't  be 
that  Joe  Barrows  had  completed  the  Richard  already. 
He  glanced  at  the  calendar  and  his  frown  deepened. 
In  all  probability  it  was  his  boat.  And  if  so,  where 
was  he  going  to  get  the  money  to  pay  for  it  ? 

He  walked  to  the  wharf  and  with  narrowing  eyes 
watched  the  stranger's  approach.  Something  wrong 
somewhere,  he  reasoned.  He  had  ordered  a  speed-boat. 
One  that  would  beat  Mascola's.  A  craft  with  real  lines 
and  bird-like  grace  like  the  Fuor  d'ltalia.  The  oncom 
ing  launch,  he  observed  bitterly,  was  the  direct 
antithesis  of  his  expectations.  Surely  there  could  be 


THE  COST  OF  DEFEAT  191 

no  speed  in  that  squatty  packet  with  her  sagging  bow 
and  queer  looking  box-affair  for  a  stern. 

The  strange  craft  drew  abreast  of  the  wharf  and 
whirled  about  in  a  wave- washed  circle.  The  motor 
hummed  with  contentment  and  the  hull  sank  sullenly 
into  the  water  as  the  man  at  the  wheel  guided  the  boat 
in  the  direction  of  the  float.  Then  Gregory  caught 
sight  of  the  letters  painted  on  the  side : 

RICHARD 

"Can  you  tell  me  where  I  can  find  Mr.  Gregory?" 

The  man  in  the  boat  looked  up  questioningly. 

Gregory  walked  slowly  to  the  float. 

"I'm  Mr.  Gregory,"  he  answered  lifelessly.  "I 
was  almost  wishing  I  wasn't  if  that's  the  launch  I 
ordered." 

The  driver  of  the  craft  rested  his  arms  on  the 
big  steering  wheel  and  laughed  outright. 

"Don't  like  her,  eh  ?"  he  grinned. 

"Can't  say  that  I  do,"  Gregory  answered.  "It 
looks  to  me  like  Mr.  Barrows  misunderstood  my; 
orders." 

The  stranger's  face  grew  instantly  serious. 

"You  wanted  a  sea-going  craft  which  could  stand 
rough  water  and  beat  the  Fuor  d'ltalia  we  built  for 
Mascola,"  he  said  slowly.  "And  you  left  the  lines  and 
everything  else  entirely  up  to  us.  Is  that  right?" 

Gregory  nodded.  Then  a  gleam  of  hope  lighted  his 
eye. 


I92  EL  DIABLO 

"You  think  this  one  will  fill  the  bill?"  he  ques 
tioned. 

"If  she  doesn't,  it's  up  to  us,"  the  man  answered. 
Noting  the  skeptical  look  in  Gregory's  face,  he  went 
on:  "Don't  make  the  mistake  of  trying  to  judge  a 
boat  from  the  dock,  Mr.  Gregory.  'You  can't  tell  by 
the  looks  of  a  frog  how  far  he  can  jump/  or  how  fast 
either.  Barrows  has  been  at  the  game  long  enough  to 
quit  guessing.  When  he  tackles  a  proposition  like 
yours,  he  wants  your  money,  not  your  boat.  I  came 
down  this  morning  to  take  you  out  for  a  trial.  Then  if 
there's  anything  you  want  changed  we  can  fix  it  up 
before  we  turn  her  over  to  you  to  beat  Mascola.  If 
you  can  spare  the  time  I'll  take  you  back  with  me  to 
Port  Angeles.  That  will  give  you  a  good  chance  to 
see  her  perform  in  rough  water  as  it's  blowing  up 
nasty  off  the  breakwater." 

Gregory's  face  cleared.  The  suggestion  had  two 
fold  value.  By  acting  upon  it  at  once  he  could  com 
bine  business  with  pleasure.  Visit  the  jobbers  in  the 
city  and  at  the  same  time  test  out  the  launch. 

"I'll  be  ready  in  half  an  hour,"  he  answered. 

The  boatman  nodded.  "I'll  run  down-town,"  he 
said,  "and  get  a  bite  to  eat  Don't  forget  to  bring  a 
rain-coat  with  you.  You're  liable  to  get  wet." 

Gregory  promised  and  hurried  away.  In  the  can 
nery  he  found  McCoy  and  outlined  his  plans. 

McCoy  objected.  "Better  take  it  easy  for  a  day 
or  two,"  he  counseled.  "No  use  trying  to  hit  the  ball 
too  hard  at  the  start." 


THE  COST  OF  DEFEAT  193 

Gregory  smiled  brightly.  "I'm  feeling  like  a  king, 
Mac/'  he  said.  "I'll  find  out  what  the  trouble  is  with 
the  jobbers  and  be  back  sometime  to-morrow." 

Seeing  that  his  advice  was  futile,  McCoy  left  to 
put  up  a  few  samples  while  his  employer  hurried  into 
the  office.  Gregory  turned  at  once  to  his  desk.  As  he 
prepared  the  quotations  for  submission  to  the  jobbers, 
a  cheery  voice  interrupted  him  in  his  work. 

"Welcome  home." 

In  the  doorway  stood  Dickie  Lang. 

He  jumped  hastily  to  his  feet  and  put  out  his 
hands. 

"Oh,  if  you  only  knew  how  good  it  was  to  be  back," 
he  began.  Then,  as  he  noticed  the  girl's  rapid  change 
of  expression  at  his  words,  he  hastened  to  amend :  "I 
don't  mean  I  was  glad  to  leave  your  house.  I  wasn't. 
It's  the  only  home  I've  known  for  a  long  time.  I  was 
only  trying  to  say  how  glad  I  am  to  be  able  to  get 
back  to  work." 

Dickie  smiled  at  his  enthusiasm. 

"I  know,"  she  said.  "It's  wonderful  you  were  able 
to  get  back  so  soon." 

Soon  the  talk  turned  to  business  and  Gregory  ex 
plained  his  plans  for  visiting  Port  Angeles.  Like 
McCoy,  Dickie  voiced  her  objections,  but  with  more 
vehemence.  Seeing  at  last,  however,  that  the  young 
man  could  not  be  talked  out  of  it,  she  exclaimed : 

"Never  let  on  to  Aunt  Mar}'  that  I  knew  you  were 
going  or  she  never  would  forgive  me.  She's  kind  of 
adopted  you  and  she  told  me  to  look  out  for  you." 


194  EL  DIABLO 

Soon  they  were  discussing  the  new  speed-boat  and 
its  practicability  at  the  present  time  should  it  be 
proved  a  success. 

"Mascola  ran  across  our  trammels  this  morning 
with  a  dragnet/'  the  girl  explained.  "If  you  had  had 
that  boat,  you  might  have  stopped  them.  He's  getting 
pretty  ugly  lately  and  last  night  his  men  tried  to  crowd 
ours  off  the  beach  with  their  seine.  If  they  try  it 
again,  there'll  be  trouble." 

Remembering  Gregory's  object  in  going  to  the 
city,  Dickie  suggested: 

"While  you're  in  Port  Angeles  you  might  look  in 
at  the  fresh  fish  markets  and  find  out  what's  the  matter 
with  them,  too.  They  are  bad  enough  at  best,  but 
they've  been  getting  worse  for  a  long  time.  Now 
they  are  hardly  yielding  us  enough  to  pay  to  ship." 

Gregory  promised  and  looking  at  his  watch,  saw 
he  would  have  to  leave  at  once. 

"I  wish  you  could  go  up  there  with  me,"  he 
exclaimed.  "Why  couldn't  you?  I'll  wait." 

A  smile  flashed  to  the  girl's  lips,  then  disappeared 
on  the  instant.  "It  wouldn't  be  proper,"  she  said 
gravely.  "Port  Angeles  is  a  city  and  people  look  at 
things  differently  in  cities.  Aunt  Mary  would  have 
nervous  prostration  if  I  even  suggested  it." 

McCoy  walked  with  Dickie  Lang  to  the  dock  to 
bid  Gregory  bon  voyage  and  wish  him  luck  on  his 
mission.  Then  they  caught  sight  of  the  launch  nearing 
the  float  and  their  disappointment  registered  in  their 
faces.  Gregory  drew  the  girl  aside. 


THE  COST  OF  DEFEAT  195 

"You  have  the  same  idea  about  her  that  I  had," 
he  said.  "But  don't  worry.  Barrows'  man,  I  guess, 
knows  what  he's  talking  about  and  if  she  doesn't  make 
good  I  don't  take  her."  Lowering  his  voice  so  that 
only  Dickie  could  hear,  he  met  her  eyes.  "You'll 
notice,"  he  said,  "that  I  named  her  Richard.  But  as 
boats  are  always  called  'she/  you  will  understand  that 
means  'Dickie.'  * 

Before  the  girl  could  recover  from  her  surprise  he 
hurried  away  and  dropped  into  the  seat  beside  the 
driver.  As  the  boatman  threw  in  the  clutch  and  the 
launch  shot  out  into  the  stream,  Gregory  looked  back 
at  the  wharf  and  noted  that  Dickie  Lang's  cheeks  were 
red  beneath  her  tan.  And  Jack  McCoy,  though  he 
said  nothing  as  he  walked  with  the  girl  along  the 
dock,  wondered  what  the  boss  could  have  said  to 
make  Dick  blush  like  that. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ROCK  FOLLOWS  UP 

TJIS  FIRST  ride  in  a  speed-boat. 
•*  *  Kenneth  Gregory  leaned  back  on  the  cushions 
and  watched  the  Richard  drag  her  heavy  hull  through 
the  quiet  water  of  Crescent  Bay.  A  feeling  of  disgust 
assailed  him.  The  craft  was  utterly  worthless  for  his 
purposes.  She  had  no  pick-up  at  all  and  was  barely 
able  to  maintain  her  lead  as  she  lumbered  along  ahead 
of  one  of  the  fastest  of  Mascola's  fishing-boats. 

The  driver,  who  called  himself  Bronson,  appeared 
to  be  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  vessel's  behavior  and 
made  no  effort  to  crowd  her  by  the  fishing  fleet.  At 
length  they  reached  the  outlet  and  the  Richard  settled 
comfortably  into  the  trough  of  the  swell.  Then  Bron- 
son  turned  to  his  passenger. 

"Better  put  on  your  rain-coat,"  he  suggested. 
"We'll  be  bucking  the  wind  and  it  picks  up  the  spray 
and  throws  it  right  back  at  us." 

As  he  spoke  he  slipped  into  his  slicker  and  waited 
for  Gregory  to  don  his  mackintosh. 

"I'm  ready  when  you  are,"  Gregory  announced. 
"Let  her  go." 

Bronson  looked  cautiously  over  his  shoulder. 
196 


ROCK  FOLLOWS  UP  197 

"Want  to  keep  an  eye  out  for  Mascola,"  he  said. 
"Don't  want  him  to  see  this  one  in  action  until  we're 
good  and  ready.  I  won't  open  her  up  to-day.  Motor  s 
too  stiff  yet  and  we're  liable  to  burn  out  something." 

As  he  spoke  he  advanced  the  throttle  and  the 
Richard  protested  at  his  action  in  a  series  of  spasmodic 
coughs.  Then  the  hood  began  to  incline  slowly  and 
Gregory  felt  the  hull  rising.  Perhaps  the  craft  was 
not  dead  after  all,  but  only  sleeping.  Watching  Bron- 
son's  fingers  on  the  spark  and  throttle,  he  noticed  that 
the  man  was  advancing  them  cautiously. 

"Watch  out  for  your  hat/7  Bronson  admonished. 

Gregory  moved  his  hand  carelessly  to  his  head  and 
caught  his  hat  just  in  time.  WTith  an  angry  roar 
the  Richard  shot  forward,  raising  her  great  hood 
higher  and  higher  in  air  while  the  hull  seemed  scarcely 
to  be  in  the  water  at  all.  The  wind  blew  in  their  faces 
like  a  hurricane  carrying  with  it  great  clouds  of  spray 
which  drenched  their  skins  and  blinded  Gregory's 
eyes.  Gasping  for  breath,  he  noticed  that  the  Richard 
was  climbing  higher.  Then  Bronson  opened  the  cut 
out  and  the  craft  sped  away  like  an  angry  sea-bird. 

The  roar  of  the  exhaust  was  deafening  and  Gregory 
was  obliged  to  shout  to  the  man  beside  him  before  he 
was  able  to  make  himself  heard. 

"Is  she  wide  open  ?"  he  shrieked. 

Bronson  directed  his  gaze  to  the  position  of  the 
throttle  device  and  Gregory  saw  with  a  gasp  of  aston 
ishment  that  the  throttle  was  only  half  open. 

On  they  sped,  the  hull  rising  from  the  water  and 


198  EL  DIABLO 

hurling  itself  along  the  crest  of  the  waves,  tossing  them 
to  the  sides  in  great  clouds  of  whirling,  blinding  spray. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  the  propeller  was  still  in  the 
water  ? 

Suddenly  he  felt  the  Richard  collapse  and  drop 
sullenly  into  the  sea.  The  "machine-guns"  had  ceased 
firing  and  Bronson  was  regarding  him  with  a  smile. 
The  boatman's  face  was  crusted  with  salt  and  his  eyes 
were  twinkling. 

"How  about  it?"  he  asked.  "Do  you  think  Bar 
rows  made  any  mistake  ?" 

When  Gregory  recovered  his  breath,  he  observed: 
"Yes.  I  wanted  a  motor-boat.  Not  an  aeroplane." 

Bronson  laughed. 

"Easier  to  go  through  the  air  than  the  water,"  he 
said.  "That's  why  we  made  your  boat  plane.  It 
takes  a  lot  of  power  to  put  her  on  her  'high  horse/ 
But  once  she's  there,  she  makes  her  speed  on  a  mini 
mum  of  horse-power.  That's  why  we  bank  on  the 
Richard  to  beat  the  Fuor  d'ltalia.  Your  boat  is  heavier 
than  Mascola's,  closer  ribbed,  but  you  have  more 
power.  We're  backing  this  one  against  his  in  any 
weather  and  the  rougher  it  is  the  better  it  will  suit  us." 

Gregory  glowed  with  satisfaction.  The  Richard 
was  all  boat.  He  noticed  that  she  did  not  tremble  like 
Mascola's  boat,  but  did  her  work  in  a  businesslike  way 
with  no  ostentation.  He  admired  people  like  that,  and 
as  Dickie  Lang  had  said  and  he  was  beginning  to  find 
out,  boats  were  very  much  like  people. 

For   some  time   Bronson   instructed   him   in   the 


ROCK  FOLLOWS  UP  199 

proper  operation  of  the  craft.  Then  he  slowed  down 
and  threw  up  the  hood,  disclosing  two  complete  multi- 
cylindered  motors. 

"Everything's  double/'  he  explained.  "You  can 
cut  it  all  in  or  halve  it  as  you  please.  And  if  anything 
goes  wrong  with  one  motor  you're  never  hung  up. 
You  can  always  limp  in  at  least." 

As  they  settled  down  to  a  good  running  speed,  the 
talk  gradually  drifted  to  Mascola. 

"The  way  things  are  going  now,"  Bronson 
observed,  "it  won't  be  long  before  we're  building  a 
new  boat  for  Mascola." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?  Has  he  seen  this 
one?" 

The  boatman  shook  his  head. 

"You  needn't  be  afraid  of  that,"  he  answered. 
"What  I  meant  was  that  Mascola  is  hammering  the 
Fuor  d'ltalia  to  pieces  with  his  trips  to  Diablo  in  that 
rough  water." 

"Does  Mascola  go  often  to  Diablo?"  Gregory 
questioned  quickly. 

Bronson  shrugged  his  shoulders  non-committally. 

"Can't  say,"  he  answered.  "Don't  know  how  often 
he  goes  out  there.  But  I  do  know  that  he  brags  that 
his  boat  can  make  it  in  two  hours  and  a  half.  Diablo's 
a  bad  place  for  the  Fuor  d'ltalia.  She's  built  too  light 
to  stand  the  gaff." 

The  ride  to  Port  Angeles  proved  all  too  short. 
Bronson  was  communicative  in  the  extreme  and 
regaled  him  of  many  evidences  of  Mascola's  prosperity, 


200  EL  DIABLO 

chief  among  which  was  the  Italian's  recent  order  to  a 
firm  of  Norwegian  boat-builders  at  Port  Angeles  of 
twenty  large  fishing  launches  of  the  most  improved 
pattern.  These  boats,  according  to  Bronson,  were  of 
sufficient  tonnage  and  fuel  capacity  to  enable  them  to 
cruise  far  down  into  Mexican  waters. 

As  they  rounded  the  light-house  point  and  made 
for  the  breakwater,  the  wind  increased,  driving  a 
choppy  sea  before  it.  Then  it  was  that  the  Richard  rose 
to  the  occasion  and  demonstrated  her  natural  ability 
to  cope  with  a  head-on  sea. 

Arriving  at  the  municipal  docks,  Gregory  promised 
to  call  for  the  boat  on  the  day  following  and  hurried 
away  to  attend  to  his  business.  He  had  a  real  boat  all 
right.  Just  what  he  wanted.  Now  all  that  remained 
to  be  done  was  to  see  the  jobbers  and  get  a  few  orders 
which  he  could  convert  into  cash  to  pay  for  the 
Richard. 

With  elastic  step  he  set  out  for  the  wholesale  dis 
trict  imbued  with  a  spirit  of  rosy  optimism.  The 
Western  was  first  on  his  list.  The  chances  were  he 
would  have  to  go  no<  farther.  A  short  talk  with  Mr. 
Eby,  the  resident  manager,  convinced  him  otherwise. 

"Can't  quite  see  your  quotations,  Gregory,"  that 
gentleman  had  crisply  maintained.  "We  have  been, 
offered  a  similar  line  of  goods  at  fully  ten  per  cent, 
less." 

Gregory  was  greatly  surprised.  McCoy,  he  knew, 
had  figured  a  bed-rock,  cash  price  and  the  extreme 
lowness  of  the  quotation  offered  the  Western  was 


ROCK  FOLLOWS  UP  201 

influenced  solely  by  the  possibility  of  a  quick  sale  in 
straight  car  lots.  And  still  the  man  claimed  he  could 
beat  it. 

"Do  you  mind  telling  me  who  is  offering  you  stuff 
at  a  lower  figure?"  he  asked. 

Mr.  Eby  hesitated.  It  was  to  his  interest  to  stimu 
late  price  cutting.  The  fact  that  the  figure  quoted  was 
below  cost  was  nothing  to  him.  A  cutthroat  war 
between  two  rival  canneries  might  result  in  still  lower 
quotations  which  would  give  him  a  greater  profit. 

"Certainly  not,"  he  answered.  "The  figure  quoted 
me  was  from  the  Golden  Rule  Cannery." 

Gregory  felt  his  face  growing  hot  under  the  influ 
ence  of  Mr.  Eby's  exasperating  smile. 

"That  figure  is  below  cost  and  you  know  it,"  he 
said  bluntly. 

The  manager  continued  to  smile.  "Possibly,"  he 
affirmed.  "From  your  view-point.  Your  cost  and 
theirs  may  be  twro  different  things.  Your  wage  scale 
is  much  higher  than  theirs  for  one  thing,  and  your 
system,  in  my  mind,  does  not  make  in  any  way  for 
low  costs." 

Gregory's  anger  mounted  at  the  man's  tone. 

"What  do  you  know  about  my  business?"  he  asked 
quickly. 

Mr.  Eby  shrugged. 

"It  is  our  business  to  keep  in  close  touch  with  our 
customers,"  he  evaded.  "I'm  just  giving  you  a 
friendly  tip  to  do  away  with  some  of  your  more  or 


202  EL  DIABLO 

less  impractical  ideas,  and  put  your  business  on  a  plant, 
with  others.  You  can  take  it  for  what  it's  worth." 

Gregory  curbed  his  anger  and  started  for  the  door. 

"My  idea  is  working  out  all  right,  Mr.  Eby,"  he 
said  in  parting.  "And  you  are  going  to  live  to  see 
you've  overlooked  a  good  bet." 

Eby  laughed.  "Go  to  it,  young  man/'  he  said. 
"You'll  just  have  to  live  and  learn  like  the  rest  of  us. 
When  you  get  down  to  earth  again,  come  in  and  see 


us." 


Somewhat  taken  back  by  his  interview,  Gregory 
sought  the  other  jobbers.  But  at  every  place  of  busi 
ness  he  was  met  by  evasions  and  superficial  excuses. 
Brown  &  Brown  had  heard  he  had  gone  out  of  business 
on  account  of  ill-health.  Possibly  they  would  send  a 
man  down  when  they  got  straightened  out.  The 
Eureka  people  were  overstocked  and,  on  account  of 
shortage  of  cars,  were  not  buying  any  more  for  the 
present.  Davis  Incorporated  were  reorganizing  and 
would  do  nothing  until  their  plans  were  completed. 
Others  intimated  they  would  submit  bids  if  he  cared 
to  sell  at  auction  and  some  broached  the  question  of 
taking  his  output  on  consignment.  But  from  no  firm 
did  he  receive  even  a  conditional  order. 

The  various  interviews  had  a  depressing  effect 
upon  Gregory's  spirits.  Weakened  by  his  illness,  he 
decided  to  call  it  a  day  and  tackle  the  few  remaining 
jobbers  on  the  following  morning. 

As  he  sought  the  hotel  he  remembered  his  friend 
Hawkins,  who  was  working  on  the  Daily  Times.  Bill 


ROCK  FOLLOWS  UP  203 

had  been  his  lieutenant  overseas.  He  was  a  fighting 
fool  and  had  always  been  an  optimistic  chap.  In  his 
present  frame  of  mind,  optimism  was  what  he  needed. 
Accordingly  he  called  Hawkins  up  and  invited  him  to 
dinner. 

Some  hours  later  the  two  men  were  conversing  in 
Gregory's  room.  The  great  war  had  been  fought  over 
again,  mutual  acquaintances  checked  up  and  the  past 
thoroughly  covered. 

"And  so  now  you  are  a  full-fledged  business  man," 
Hawkins  was  saying,  as  the  talk  turned  to  the  present, 
surveying  Gregory  through  the  haze  of  his  cigarette. 

"Yes.  And  from  the  way  it  looks  now  I'm  about 
due  to  be  plucked  by  these  thieving  jobbers." 

Hawkins  smiled  brightly.  "Nothing  to  it,"  he 
said.  "You've  overlooked  two  big  things,  that's  all. 
When  we  get  them  straightened  out,  everything  will 
be  lovely." 

Knowing  that  Hawkins  expected  no  reply,  Gregory 
waited  for  him  to  go  on. 

"Your  idea  is  bully.  I  can't  see  any  reason  why  it 
won't  work  out  all  right.  But  in  order  to  make  that 
possible  you've  got  to  stir  up  the  animals.  When  you 
get  an  idea  like  that,  the  thing  to  be  done  is  to  capi 
talize  it.  Why  withhold  it  from  the  public?  They 
would  be  interested.  Let  them  in  on  it." 

"You  mean  advertise?"     Gregory  prompted. 

A  slight  frown  passed  over  Hawkins'  face. 

"Nothing  so  crude  as  that,"  he  answered.  "I  mean 
publicity." 


204  EL  DIABLO 

The  newspaperman's  face  glowed  with  the  impor 
tance  of  his  subject  and  he  continued  rapidly : 

"This  is  an  age  of  publicity.  With  proper  han 
dling  you  can  do  most  anything.  Even  adverse  pub 
licity,  so-called,  has  its  value.  Lots  of  shows  around 
here  for  instance  are  crowded  to  the  doors  every  night 
by  a  mere  suggestion  that  they  are  not  all  that  they 
should  be.  The  quickest  way  to  kill  a  man  or  an  idea 
in  this  country  is  by  a  'campaign  of  silence/  ' 

Seeing  that  Gregory  did  not  quite  get  his  drift,  he 
went  on : 

"Your  idea  is  O.  K.  It  will  write  up  well  if  it  is 
handled  right.  Moreover  it  is  a  little  out  of  the  ordi 
nary,  and  all-American.  That  is  a  popular  theme  at 
present." 

He  paused  and  puffed  the  air  full  of  smoke- 
wreaths.  In  the  smoke  he  could  see  a  big  story.  Why 
couldn't  hard-headed  business  men  realize  the  value 
of  the  thing  he  was  trying  to  get  at?  Why,  Kenneth 
Gregory's  idea  would  be  a  winner  at  the  present  time. 
He,  Bill  Hawkins,  could  make  it  so. 

"Listen,"  he  said  quietly.  "I  have  to  be  getting 
back  to  the  office  so  I  can't  say  much  now.  I  put 
over  a  big  story  for  the  boss  yesterday.  Shot  myself 
to  pieces  over  it.  So  he's  giving  me  a  week  off  on 
full  pay  to  take  it  easy.  I  want  a  vacation.  I'm  a  fan 
for  fishing  and  if  you'll  give  me  an  invitation  to  go 
back  with  you  and  will  let  me  muss  around  on  your 
boats,  I'll  see  if  I  can't  drop  on  to  something  that  will 
look  good  in  print.  I  have  an  idea  I  can  have  a  few  of 


ROCK  FOLLOWS  UP  205 

the  jobbers  around  here  yelping  at  your  heels  for  fish 
before  I  get  back.  In  the  morning  I'll  be  off.  Then 
I'll  go  down  to  Winfield  &  Camby's  with  you.  I 
know  the  boss  there  and  think  maybe  I  can  get  him  to 
talk  'turkey.'  " 

Gregory  jumped  eagerly  at  Hawkins'  suggestion 
and  immediately  extended  the  desired  invitation.  The 
following  morning  saw  the  two  men  closeted  at  an 
early  hour  with  Mr.  Dupont,  of  Winfield  &  Camby. 
And  under  the  warmth  of  Hawkins'  introduction,  the 
manager's  manner  thawed  perceptibly  toward  the 
young  cannery  owner. 

Noting  the  change,  Gregory  hastened  to  take 
advantage  of  it,  and  straightway  put  up  his  proposi 
tion.  When  he  had  concluded,  Mr.  Dupont  took  the 
floor. 

"In  our  dealings  with  our  patrons,  Mr.  Gregory," 
he  began,  "we  are  nothing,  if  not  frank.  Our  firm  is 
one  of  unimpeachible  standing  which  follows  as  a  nat 
ural  result  from  years  of  square-dealing.  We  are, 
however,  extremely  conservative.  We  play,  as  the 
saying  goes,  no  'long-shots.'  Once  convinced  of  the 
dependability  of  our  producers,  we  give  them  every 
chance  and  stick  by  them  to  the  limit." 

The  manager  removed  his  nose-glasses  and  pol 
ished  them  carefully  before  going  on : 

"I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  your  father,  Mr. 
Gregory.  From  my  observation  of  him,  he  was  every 
thing  that  one  could  expect  in  a  man.  But  he  was  con 
stantly  hampered  with  labor  troubles  of  one  sort  or 


206  EL  DIABLO 

another.  Consequently,  he  was  unable  to  operate  his 
plant  in  the  way  we  like  to  see  them  operate.  When 
we  work  up  a  trade  for  a  particular  brand,  we  like  to 
be  able  to  supply  the  demand  which  we  create.  If  we 
were  assured  that  you  were  able  to  make  good  in  this 
respect,  we  would  have  no  hesitation  in  sending  a 
buyer  down  at  once  to  inspect  your  pack/' 

"But  you  do  not?" 

Gregory  met  the  man's  eyes  squarely  and  the 
manager  looked  him  over  critically. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  after  a  moment.  "For  some 
reason  or  other  I  believe  I  do.  I  think  you  are  work 
ing  along  the  right  lines.  That  is,"  he  amended  with 
a  smile,  "if  you  do  not  carry  your  ideas  of  cooperation 
far  enough  to  deal  direct  with  the  consumer  and  cut  us 
out  of  it." 

As  Gregory  shook  his  head,  Mr.  Dupont  con 
cluded  : 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll  send  Mr.  Dalton 
down  at  once  to  look  over  your  pack.  How  does  that 
suit  you?" 

Gregory's  face  clearly  expressed  his  satisfaction 
and  a  few  moments  later  he  hurried  out  into  the 
street,  leaving  Hawkins  with  the  manager. 

"I'll  meet  you  here  at  any  time,"  Hawkins  called 
after  him. 

Promising  to  meet  his  friend  at  four  o'clock, 
Gregory  started  again  on  his  rounds.  Passing  a 
butcher-shop  he  stopped  and  surveyed  the  array  of  fish 
which  were  on  display  in  the  window.  He  noted  the 


ROCK  FOLLOWS  UP  207 

prices  and  hastily  compared  them  with  the  figures  he 
was  getting  from  the  markets  in  Port  Angeles  for  his 
fresh  fish.  There  was  surely  money  going  to  waste 
somewhere.  Remembering  that  he  had  promised 
Dickie  to  visit  the  wholesalers,  he  directed  his  steps  to 
the  water-front. 

The  dealers  he  visited  were  scarcely  civil  and  among 
them  was  none  who  spoke  English  without  the  accent 
of  the  foreigner.  Their  observations  in  response  to 
his  questions  concerning  the  prices  they  were  offering, 
were  short  and  to  the  point.  If  he  did  not  like  it,  he 
need  not  ship  to  them.  They  were  dumping  fish 
every  day  as  it  was.  The  market  was  glutted.  What 
was  he  going  to  do  about  it? 

Gregory  wondered  himself.  Then  a  plan  began 
to  form  in  his  brain,  suggested  no  doubt  by  Mr. 
Dupont's  jest  about  him  carrying  the  cooperative  idea 
far  enough  to  include  the  consumer.  Why  not?  Fish 
were  being  retailed  at  almost  prohibitive  figures.  And 
the  markets  claimed  they  were  dumping  them.  Some 
body  was  profiteering.  Who  was  it?  Certainly  not 
himself.  He  was  barely  able  to  get  enough  from  the 
dealers  to  pay  express. 

The  idea  grew  as  he  walked  along  the  street.  He 
decided  to  take  up,  with  Dickie  Lang,  the  matter  of 
establishing  a  cooperative  service-market  and  selling 
direct  to  the  consumer. 

In  mid-afternoon  he  found  himself  again  among 
the  jobbers.  But  the  few  he  had  not  called  upon  the 
day  previous,  appeared  even  less  interested  in  his 


208  EL  DIABLO 

proposition.  As  he  came  out  of  the  Pacific's  establish 
ment,  he  brushed  against  a  heavy-set  man  with  gray 
hair,  who  was  just  going  in.  Excusing  himself  for 
his  awkwardness,  he  glanced  at  the  stranger's  face.  It 
was  Silvanus  Rock,  of  Legonia. 

Gregory  passed  on.  Rock  apparently  had  not  recog 
nized  him.  Yet  surely  he  was  not  mistaken  in  the 
man's  identity.  The  flabby  face  with  its  sagging  folds 
of  pink  skin,  the  snake-like  eyes  and  the  long  Roman 
nose  could  not  have  been  the  inheritance  of  any  other 
than  the  magnate  of  Legonia.  And  yet,  what  business 
could  Rock  have  with  the  jobbers?  Gregory  wondered 
as  he  walked  up-town  to  get  a  box  of  candy  for  Aunt 
Mary  and  Dickie  Lang.  While  he  made  his  purchase, 
his  mind  was  filled  with  his  meeting  with  Rock.  In 
some  vague  way  he  began  to  associate  Rock's  pres 
ence  in  the  jobbing  district  with  the  failure  of  the 
dealers  to  become  interested  in  his  solicitation.  When 
he  reached  the  office  of  Winfield  &  Camby  at  four 
o'clock,  the  matter  still  filled  his  mind. 

"Mr.  Hawkins  just  stepped  out,"  Mr.  Dupont 
informed  him.  Then  the  manager  cleared  his  throat 
.and  beckoned  Gregory  to  his  private  office.  "It  some 
times  happens,"  he  began,  \vhen  the  door  closed,  "that 
we  are  forced  to  change  our  plans,  owing  to  an  unex 
pected  event.  Since  you  were  here  this  morning,  I 
feel  that  what  has  happened  in  the  interim,  warrants 
us  in  our  decision.  In  view  of  that,  I  wish  to  say 
that  for  the  present  at  least,  we  will  not  send  Mr. 
Dalton  to  visit  your  cannery." 


ROCK  FOLLOWS  UP  209 

"Why  not?" 

Mr.  Dupont  shoved  an  evening  Times  across  his 
desk  and  pointed  to  a  marked  item  that  appeared 
therein. 

"That  will  explain  for  itself/'  he  said. 

Gregory  read : 

RIOT  AMONG  THE  FISHERMEN  AT 
LEGONIA 

This  afternoon  when  the  foreign  fishermen  were 
peaceably  engaged  with  their  seine,  they  were  brutally 
attacked  by  a  number  of  ex-soldiers  and  sailors  em 
ployed  by  the  Legonia  Fish  Cannery,  and  driven  from 
the  beach. 

Gregory  read  no  further. 

"It's  a  lie,  Mr.  Dupont,"  he  said  hotly.  "My  men 
do  not  pick  fights.  A  few  nights  ago  the  alien  fisher 
men  endeavored  to  crowd  them  off  the  beach  and  they 


Mr.  Dupont  interrupted  with  a  peremptory  wave 
of  his  hand. 

"You  may  be  right,"  he  said.  "But  I'm  not  inter 
ested.  Whatever  the  merits  of  the  case  are,  the  fact 
remains  that  you  are  mixed  up  in  a  labor  brawl  with 
foreigners.  As  I  stated  to  you  this  morning,  we  are 
conservative  and  until  you  get  matters  adjusted  amica 
bly  with  your  competitors,  we  do  not  care  to  go  into 
your  proposition  further." 

He  rose  at  once,  showing  the  interview  was  at  an 
end.  Gregory  followed  him  to  the  door.  In  the  out- 


210  EL  DIABLO 

side  office  he  found  his  friend  waiting.  Hawkins, 
clad  in  outing  clothes,  was  smiling  broadly.  The 
smile,  however,  quickly  disappeared  as  he  caught  sight 
of  his  friend's  face. 

"Anything  the  matter?"  he  asked. 

Gregory  walked  with  him  to  the  street  before  reply 
ing.  Then  he  bought  a  copy  of  The  Times  and  the 
two  men  read  the  account  of  the  fight  with  the  aliens. 

"What  of  that?"  Hawkins  queried.  "Your  men 
licked  them,  didn't  they?" 

"Yes.  But  it  cost  me  my  chance  with  Winfield 
&  Camby.  Mr.  Dupont  called  the  whole  thing  off." 

"The  devil  he  did!" 

Hawkins'  smile  returned. 

"Why,  the  old  fool,"  he  ejaculated.  "Can't  he 
see  that  this  will  only  be  publicity  for  your  brands. 
Why,  darn  his  crinkled  old  hide,  I'll  show  him.  And 
I'll  bet  I'll  have  him  eating  out  of  your  hand  in  less 
than  a  week." 

He  glanced  curiously  at  the  paper. 

"Regular  correspondence,"  he  muttered,  as  he 
noticed  the  date-line  of  the  news-item.  "That  means 
it  comes  from  the  little  paper  down  there.  What  did 
you  ever  do  to  Tommy  Black  ?" 

Gregory  shook  his  head  blankly. 

"I  don't  even  know  who  he  is,"  he  answered. 

Hawkins  laughed. 

"He  seems  to  know  you  all  right,"  he  answered. 
Then  he  explained:  "Black  is  the  editor  of  The 
Legonla  Star.  A  man  by  the  name  of  Rock  owns  it." 


CHAPTER  XX 

PLANS  FOR  A  SHOW-DOWN 

C  HALL  the  control  of  our  fisheries  pass  into  foreign 

hands  ? 

Riot  among  Legonia  fishermen  raises  interesting 
question.  Ex-service  men  contest  forcibly  with  aliens 
for  freedom  of  the  seas.  Show-down  expected  in  the 
near  future. 

"How  does  that  strike  you?"  Hawkins  grinned 
and  shoved  the  copy  of  The  Times  forward  as 
"Exhibit  A"  for  publicity.  "Notice  the  date  line,"  he 
exclaimed.  "From  our  own  correspondent." 

Kenneth  Gregory  read  the  news  item  carefully 
before  replying.  First  came  a  true  account  of  the  fight 
with  Mascola's  men  on  the  beach  which  had  ended  in 
the  decisive  victory  for  the  service  men.  Followed, 
in  chronological  order,  a  review  of  past  interferences 
suffered  by  the  American  fishermen  at  the  hands  of 
the  foreigners.  And  lastly,  glowingly  outlined,  came 
his  plans  for  meeting  the  opposition  by  a  cooperative 
organization  of  one  hundred  per  cent,  bona-fide 
Americans.  The  article  concluded : 

The  public  will  watch  with  a  great  deal  of  interest 
the  outcome  of  Mr.  Gregory's  fight  to  regain  control 
of  a  lost  industry  in  local  waters.  Should  the  young 

211 


212  EL  DIABLO 

cannery  owner  succeed,  it  will  mean  much  to  the  people 
of  Port  Angeles  in  reducing  the  high  cost  of  living. 
For  Mr.  Gregory  has  already  under  way,  comprehen 
sive  plans  for  supplying  the  public  with  fresh  fish  at  a 
greatly  reduced  price,  through  his  system  of  estab 
lishing  cooperative  markets  and  dealing  direct  with 
the  consumer. 

Gregory's  face  was  radiant  with  satisfaction. 

"You're  there  on  that  kind  of  stuff,  Bill,"  he 
exclaimed,  gripping  Hawkins  by  the  hand.  "You 
surely  put  it  over  in  great  shape." 

Hawkins  frowned. 

"Fell  down  on  one  thing,"  he  observed.  "The  city 
editor  blue-penciled  my  direct  reference  to  your  brands 
of  canned  stuff.  Claimed  it  was  slapping  the  ad  man 
right  in  the  face.  Say,  I'll  tell  you  what  to  do,"  he 
went  on.  "Let  me  write  you  up  some  good  ads  for 
your  stuff  and  shoot  them  in  right  away  to  the  adver 
tising  department.  That  will  put  you  in  strong  with 
the  paper  and  I  can  'dead-head'  a  lot  more  dope 
through." 

Gregory  gave  Hawkins  carte  blanche. 

As  Hawkins  set  to  work,  Dickie  Lang  entered. 

"Light  haul  all  around,"  she  announced.  "The 
albacore  are  heading  out.  Looks  as  if  we  were  going 
to  have  a  little  weather." 

Gregory's  expression  changed  quickly  at  her  news. 

"That  means  we've  got  to  follow  them  up,"  he 
said.  "We've  got  to  have  the  fish.  We've  been 
putting  it  over  on  Mascola  for  the  past  few  weeks  and 


PLANS  FOR  A  SHOW-DOWN  213 

we  can't  fall  down  now.  The  jobbers  are  watching  us 
and  we've  got  to  show  them  we  can  deliver  the  goods. 
In  addition  to  that  I  am  going  to  enter  into  quite  an 
extensive  advertising  campaign  and  when  it  begins  to 
bear  its  fruit,  we've  got  to  have  the  stuff  on  hand  to 
come  across.  There  are  a  lot  of  people  looking  this 
way  right  now  and  we've  got  to  make  good." 

"That's  the  way  to  talk,"  encouraged  Hawkins. 
Then  he  smiled  at  the  girl  and  nodded  toward  his 
friend.  "Notice  how  I'm  bringing  him  alive,"  he 
exclaimed.  "He's  quit  'shooting  nickels'  now.  He's 
raised  his  sights  already." 

They  all  smiled  at  Hawkins'  enthusiasm.  Then 
the  girl's  face  became  serious. 

"You  know  what  going  out  to  sea  means,"  she 
said  quietly.  "It  just  about  means  Diablo.  That's 
where  Mascola's  boats  went  this  morning  and  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  they  struck  it  out  there.  When 
they  get  back  we'll  know." 

"We've  got  to  know  before  that,"  Gregory  averred. 
"Why  not  send  a  bunch  of  the  boys  over  right  away  ?" 

Dickie  shook  her  head  with  great  emphasis. 

"Haven't  the  gear,"  she  objected.  "It's  liable  to 
be  nasty  around  the  island  at  this  time  of  the  year. 
We're  shy  on  deep-sea  hooks  and  heavy  line." 

"We'll  get  it."  Gregory  turned  to  the  telephone. 
"I'll  order  it  by  express,"  he  announced,  as  he  put  in 
his  call  for  the  ship-chandlers  at  Port  Angeles.  While 
he  waited  for  the  call,  he  addressed  Dickie  Lang. 
"We  can  send  some  over  right  away,  can't  we?" 


214  EL  DIABLO 

She  considered.  Then  nodded  acquiescence.  "The 
Pelican  and  the  Curlew  are  outfitted  for  that  kind  of 
work/'  she  stated.  "We  could  get  them  moving  in 
half  an  hour.  They  could  go  over  and  do  the  scout 
ing.  They  both  have  the  wireless,  you  know." 

Gregory  made  up  his  mind  at  once. 

"Will  you  give  me  a  list  of  the  stuff  you  need  ?"  he 
asked.  "As  soon  as  I  get  this  call  through  I'll  come 
out  and  we'll  get  them  started.  We  ought  to  get  the 
stuff  we  need  to-night,  or  early  to-morrow.  Then  the 
rest  can  clear."  His  face  brightened.  "I'll  have  the 
Richard  to-morrow,"  he  said.  "Branson's  going  to 
bring  her  back  and  stay  two  or  three  days  to  put  me 
on  to  the  ropes.  We'll  get  him  to  take  us  to  Diablo." 

"Count  me  in  on  that  too,"  exclaimed  Hawkins. 
"I've  got  it  coming.  Haven't  had  a  breath  of  salt  air 
since  I've  been  here." 

The  girl  completed  her  list  of  the  required  gear 
as  the  telephone  rang.  Gregory  turned  to  the  instru 
ment  and  gave  the  order. 

"What's  that?"  he  concluded.  "You'll  have  to  have 
the  cash?  Thirty  days  is  customary  on  that  kind  of 
stuff,  isn't  it?  Well,  I've  got  to  have  it.  — All  right, 
go  ahead  and  draw  on  me  if  that's  the  way  you  feel 
about  it.  — But  send  the  stuff."  He  turned  wrathfully 
to  the  girl.  "The  robbers,"  he  said.  "They  have  me 
in  a  hole  and  they  know  it.  We  have  to  have  that 
gear  right  away  though  Heaven  only  knows  where  I'm 
going  to  raise  the  money  to  pay  for  it." 

The  problem  of  raising  approximately  three  thou- 


PLANS  FOR  A  SHOW-DOWN  215 

sand  in  cash  before  ten  o'clock  the  following  morning 
presented  its  difficulties.  Gregory  decided  to  tackle 
the  matter  without  delay. 

'Til  try  the  local  bank,"  he  declared.  "And  give 
old  Rock  a  chance  to  make  good  on  his  promise." 

Dickie  strove  to  dissuade  him. 

"Keep  in  the  clear  of  that  old  hypocrite,"  she  cau 
tioned.  "If  he  lets  you  have  it  at  all  it  will  be  only 
with  strings  which  will  tangle  you  up  later  on." 

Gregory  was  on  his  way  to  the  door. 

"A  man  needing  money  like  I  do  at  present  has  to 
get  it  where  he  can,"  he  answered.  "Will  you  see  to 
getting  the  Pelican  and  Curlew  started  as  soon  as 
possible?" 

She  promised  and  he  hurried  out. 

Gregory  found  Rock  in  his  private  office  at  the 
bank  and  was  welcomed  warmly  by  the  financier. 

"Growing  more  like  your  father  every  day  you 
live,"  was  the  president's  greeting.  "How  happy  we 
would  all  be  if  he  could  have  been  spared  to  this  com 
munity." 

Gregory  lost  no  time  in  preliminaries. 

"You  told  me  if  I  ever  got  into  a  tight  place,  you'd 
see  me  through,"  he  began. 

Rock  nodded  and  the  corners  of  his  thick  lips  turned 
downward. 

"I  sincerely  trust  you  have  met  with  no  business 
reverses,  my  young  friend,"  he  purred.  "However,  if 
such  is  the  case,  feel  perfectly  free  to  make  me  your 
confidant." 


216  EL  DIABLO 

Briefly  Gregory  stated  his  case,  to  which  the  old 
man  listened  attentively.  When  he  had  concluded, 
Rock's  eyes  were  on  the  ceiling",  and  his  soft  white 
hands  caressed  the  desk  noiselessly. 

"If  you  will  accept  a  word  of  advice  from  a  man 
old  enough  to  be  your  father,  and  one  who  is  entirely 
disinterested  in  you,  save  in  a  personal  way  as  the  son 
of  my  old  friend,  you  will " 

"What?" 

Gregory  cut  short  his  rambling. 

"Stay  away  from  Diablo  Island." 

Rock's  advice  carried  a  mandatory  note  which  was 
not  lost  upon  his  auditor. 

"Why?"     Gregory  asked  quickly. 

Rock  searched  the  far  corners  of  the  room  for 
the  answer  to  the  question.  At  length  he  replied :  "It 
is  an  extremely  dangerous  place,  particularly  at  this 
season  of  the  year.  Storms  are  prevalent  about  Diablo 
and  by  making  the  venture  at  this  time,  you  place  not 
only  your  capital  in  jeopardy,  but  the  lives  of  your 
men  as  well." 

Gregory  realized  he  had  little  time  for  argument. 

"I've  asked  for  a  loan  of  three  thousand  for  ten 
days,  Mr.  Rock.  It's  up  to  you.  What  will  you  do 
for  me?" 

A  slight  frown  passed  over  the  bank  president's 
forehead  at  the  young  man's  insistence.  For  a  mo 
ment  he  gave  his  entire  attention  to  the  blotter  on  the 
desk.  Then  he  said : 

"I  will  let  you  have  the  money  you  desire  on  one 


PLANS  FOR  A  SHOW-DOWN  217 

condition.  That  you  confine  your  operations  to 
coastal  waters.  Your  security  will  then  be  compara 
tively  safe  and " 

"You  forget,  Mr.  Rock,  that  I  am  not  taking  my 
cannery  with  me  to  El  Diablo,"  Gregory  broke  in. 
"Don't  you  regard  the  plant  and  the  canned  product 
on  the  floor  as  sufficient  security  for  a  temporary  loan 
of  three  thousand  dollars  ?" 

Rock  nodded.  After  a  moment's  silence  he  said: 
"Then  there  is  another  thing.  This  is  a  time  to  speak 
plainly.  Otherwise  I  would  make  no  mention  of  it. 
But  as  you  are  seeking  a  favor  at  the  hands  of  this 
bank,  it  is  my  duty  to  inform  you  that  we  do  not  wish 
to  countenance  or  encourage,  in  any  way,  your  policy 
of  stirring  up  trouble  with  our  alien  population." 

Gregory  rose  angrily. 

"There  is  no  use  of  my  taking  up  your  time  or  mine 
any  further,"  he  said.  "My  business  is  my  own.  And 
while  we're  on  the  subject  Fll  say  that  I  intend  to  run 
it  as  I  please.  Neither  myself  nor  my  men  are  seeking 
trouble  with  Mascola's  foreigners.  But  I'll  tell  you 
here  and  now  that  we  are  prepared  to  fight,  if  need  be, 
for  what  the  law  says  we  can  have.  We  want  only  a 
square  deal,  Mr.  Rock,  and  you  can  take  it  from  me 
we  are  going  to  get  it." 

Walking  out  of  the  bank  president's  office  Gregory 
observed  a  familiar  figure  leaning  idly  against  one  of 
the  grated  wickets.  And  though  the  man  was  dressed 
in  the  extreme  of  fashion,  he  had  no  difficulty  in 


218  EL  DIABLO 

recognizing  him.  It  was  Leo  Bandrist,  the  lord  of 
El  Diablo.  Gregory  returned  the  islander's  nod  and 
hurried  to  the  street.  As  he  walked  to  the  cannery  he 
found  it  hard  to  concentrate  his  thoughts  on  the  prob 
lem  of  raising  the  desired  funds.  Rock  was  a  royal 
old  hypocrite.  Of  that  he  was  sure  now.  The  finan 
cier  had  used  his  influence  among  the  jobbers  to  some 
purpose.  He  had  knocked  him  through  his  local 
paper.  And  now  he  was  telling  him,  almost  threaten 
ing  him,  to  stay  away  from  El  Diablo.  His  mind 
flashed  again  to  Bandrist.  What  brought  the  man 
to  Rock's  bank ?  Business,  no  doubt.  But  what  kind? 
Was  Rock  backing  Bandrist?  Were  the  two  men  in 
cahoots  with  Mascola's  gang?  If  so,  for  what  purpose  ? 

The  questions  multiplied  with  astonishing  rapidity. 
When  Gregory  arrived  at  the  cannery  he  had  decided 
upon  a  definite  course  of  action.  He  would  wire 
Farnsworth,  the  estate's  attorney,  to  sell  his  bonds  at 
a  sacrifice  if  need  be.  They  should  bring  enough, 
added  to  his  own  personal  account,  to  pay  for  the 
equipment  he  desired.  After  that,  he'd  go  to  Diablo 
and  call  Rock's  bluff,  whatever  it  was. 

It  was  late  that  evening  before  he  received  an 
answer  from  the  lawyer.  Farnsworth  had  regarded 
the  instructions  of  his  client  as  sheer  idiocy  and  had 
taken  no  pains  to  conceal  the  fact.  But  he  had  sold 
the  bonds  and  was  forwarding  the  money.  Close  upon 
the  message  from  the  attorney  came  one  from  the 
ship-chandlers  at  Port  Angeles.  They  were  shipping1 
the  gear  in  the  early  morning.  Gregory  heaved  two 


PLANS  FOR  A  SHOW-DOWN  219 

great  sighs  of  relief  which  adequately  expressed  his 
feelings  at  the  contents  of  the  two  respective  messages. 

The  day  had  ended  better  than  he  anticipated.  The 
Pelican  and  the  Curlew  were  at  Diablo  by  now.  He 
should  hear  from  them  any  minute.  While  he  was 
waiting  there  was  much  that  he  could  do.  He  took  up 
his  personal  bank-book  and  began  to  balance  it.  A 
low  rap  at  the  office-door  interrupted  him. 

Dickie  Lang  entered  with  McCoy  and  Hawkins. 

"We've  been  out  for  a  walk,"  she  announced. 
"Thought  we'd  stop  in  and  see  if  you'd  heard  any 
thing  from  the  boys  yet." 

"Not  yet,"  Gregory  answered.  "Fm  going  to 
keep  a  man  at  the  key  all  night.  We  should  have  heard 
before  this.  They  got  a  fairly  early  start  and  with 
good  weather  should  have  hit  the  island  in  time  to  get 
a  good  line  on  things  before  dark.  I  just  got  a  wire 
from  the  ship-chandlers  and  they  are  shipping  the  stuff 
the  first  thing  in  the  morning." 

As  the  talk  turned  to  Diablo,  Hawkins  listened 
attentively  though  he  said  but  little.  At  length  the 
party  rose  to  go. 

As  Gregory  was  bidding  them  good  night  one  of 
the  radio  men  entered  with  a  message.  Gregory 
glanced  at  the  meaningless  jumble  of  words  and  shook 
his  head. 

"Too  much  for  me,"  he  announced.  "I  haven't 
savvied  the  code  out  well  enough  yet  to  read  this  one." 

The  operator  again  took  the  message. 

"Haven't  been  using  it  long,"  he  answered.    "But 


220  EL  DIABLO 

one  of  the  boys  dropped  on  to  a  little  rig  on  one  of  the 
cliffs  a  little  way  from  here,  so  we  thought  it  was  just 
as  well  to  be  careful." 

Gregory  nodded  and  the  company  drew  closer  to 
the  operator  as  he  bent  over  his  work.  When  the 
message  was  decoded  it  read : 

Off  Northwest  Harbor 

El  Diablo 
From :     Launch  Pelican. 

Albacore  tuna  running  close  shore  this  end. 
Slipped  round  Mascola's  boats  by  running  round  south 
shore.  His  fleet  off  Hell-Hole  Isthmus.  Spotted 
them  hour  ago.  Don't  think  he's  wise  we're  here. 
Can  load  up  fleet  if  they  get  here  quick  and  can  dodge 
by  Mascola.  What  shall  we  do? 

The  message  was  signed  by  Torn  Howard. 

Dickie  beamed  at  the  news. 

"I  know  right  where  he  is,"  she  said.  "When  you 
get  them  that  close  in  at  this  time  of  the  year  it  means 
they  are  running  in  bunches  and  there's  pretty  apt 
to  be  some  weather." 

She  glanced  at  her  watch. 

"Not  much  sleep  for  me  to-night,"  she  announced. 
"I've  got  a  lot  to  do  before  morning.  Guess  I'll  be  on 
my  way.  It  will  mean  work  to  clear  by  to-morrow 
noon  and  every  minute  is  going  to  count." 

"It  will  mean  a  scrap  with  Mascola  too,  unless  I 
miss  my  guess,"  put  in  McCoy.  "When  he  finds  we 
are  hitting  into  his  territory"  there's  liable  to  be 
trouble." 


PLANS  FOR  A  SHOW-DOWN  221 

Hawkins'  eye  brightened  at  the  possibility.  "That 
will  mean  a  story  for  me,"  he  contributed. 

"It  will  mean  more  than  all  that/'  Gregory  said 
slowly.  "It  means  the  thing  we  need  most — money. 
Fish  in  car-load  lots.  A  chance  to  show  the  jobbers 
we  know  our  business.  It  may  mean  a  show-down 
with  Mascola.  And  if  it  does,  we've  got  to  be  ready 
when  it  comes." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  GRAY  GHOST 

DEADY  to  clear  for  Diablo  at  last!  Gregory's 
A  *•  lieutenants  had  done  their  work  well.  The  gear 
from  the  ship-chandlers  had  arrived  on  the  morning 
train.  Also  the  remittance  from  Farnsworth.  Dickie 
Lang  had  outfitted  the  fishing-boats  in  record  time. 
Crews  of  experienced  men  were  selected  and  supplies 
taken  aboard.  One  by  one  the  launches  were  care 
fully  examined  by  the  girl  and  despatched  singly  on  a 
course  mapped  out  by  herself,  a  course  which  would 
bring  them  to  Northwest  Harbor  without  skirting  the 
shore  of  the  island.  The  auxiliary  supply  boat,  the 
last  of  the  fleet  to  go,  had  cleared  but  an  hour  before. 
For  the  time  being  Dickie  Lang  was  content  to  rest 
upon  her  oars. 

Bronson  was  ready.  In  response  to  a  night  letter 
from  Gregory  he  had  arrived  on  time  with  the 
Richard,  bringing  with  him  a  full  equipment  of  heavy 
gear.  Tuned  to  the  minute,  the  speed-craft  waited 
impatiently  at  the  cannery  float  for  the  signal  to  be 
under  way. 

Jack  McCoy  was  ready.  Everything  within  the 
cannery  was  shipshape  to  handle  a  big  run.  Depleted 

222 


THE  GRAY  GHOST  223 

supplies  had  been  hastily  ordered.  Necessary  addi 
tions  to  the  floor  force  had  been  made  and  the  house- 
manager  was  in  possession  of  detailed  instructions  for 
the  running  of  the  plant  during  the  owner's  absence. 

Even  Hawkins  was  ready.  The  advertisements 
had  been  written  and  checked  over  before  being  des 
patched  to  The  Times  to  "farm  out"  among  the  other 
city  dailies.  In  addition  to  that,  the  newspaperman 
had  arranged  to  communicate  with  his  paper  via  the 
cannery  wireless  should  he  be  fortunate  enough  to 
secure  a  big  story. 

Gregory  himself  was  ready.  The  details  of  the 
embarkation  had  been  covered  to  the  minutest  detail. 
A  plan  had  been  formulated  in  the  early  morning  hours 
for  the  outwitting  of  Mascola  at  El  Diablo,  a  plan  to 
which  Dickie  Lang  had  given  her  hearty  approbation 
before  it  was  sent  to  Howard  over  the  radio. 

Gregory  turned  for  a  last  word  with  McCoy 
before  giving  the  order  which  would  send  the  Richard 
to  sea. 

"We'll  keep  in  close  touch,  Jack,"  he  said.  "We'll 
expect  you  to  do  the  same.  This  is  Friday.  If  we 
send  in  a  lot  of  fish  to-morrow  it  will  mean  a  straight 
run  over  Sunday.  Keep  a  man  at  the  key  day  and 
night.  And  don't  forget  that  we  are  low  on  cash.  If 
you  get  any  orders  that  look  at  all  good,  grab  them 
until  we  can  get  'out  of  the  woods.'  We're  going  up 
against  a  mighty  stiff  proposition.  It's  make  or  break, 
and  the  sooner  we  get  down  to  cases  with  Mascola  the 
better  it  will  be." 


224  EL  DIABLO 

He  put  out  his  hand  and  McCoy's  fingers  tight 
ened  over  his.  Then  McCoy  watched  him  go  down 
the  gangway  and  take  his  place  beside  Dickie  Lang  in 
the  Richard. 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that's  Diablo  ?" 

Hawkins  wiped  his  dripping  face  and  stared  at  the 
misty  blot  on  the  purpling  horizon. 

Gregory  and  Dickie  Lang  looked  up  from  their 
scrutiny  of  the  small  clock  on  the  Richard's  dash  and 
smiled : 

"Two  hours  and  ten  minutes  to  here,"  Gregory 
announced.  "We  can  make  it  easy  in  two  hours  and 
a  half,  and  we've  been  bucking  a  head  wind  and  sea  all 
the  way  over.  If  the  Fuor  d*  Italia  can  do  this  well, 
Mascola  will  certainly  have  to  show  me." 

Bronson  smiled  but  made  no  comment. 

As  the  island  loomed  across  their  track,  Dickie 
directed  a  change  of  course. 

"Cut  in  close  to  that  big  cliff  on  the  northeast 
corner  and  we'll  work  our  way  along  close  in  to  the 
shore." 

Bronson  complied.  Then  the  girl  turned  to 
Gregory. 

"Get  my  idea?"  she  asked. 

"You  want  to  see  if  Mascola  has  fallen  for  our 
scheme,"  Gregory  replied. 

"Exactly.  We'll  cruise  by  his  fleet  and  lay  to  by 
the  Pelican.  Then  we'll  find  out  if  he's  spotted  the 
Curlew  yet.  If  he  hasn't,  the^oys  can  get  in  in  the 


THE  GRAY  GHOST  225 

dark  and  'chum'  the  fish.    By  that  time  we  won't  care 
what  Mascola  does." 

The  passing  of  a  few  minutes  brought  them  in 
sight  of  the  alien  fleet  grouped  closely  together  off 
Back  Point. 

"They've  shifted/*  announced  the  girl.  "Tom's 
message  said  they  were  off  the  Hell-Hole." 

Gregory  said  nothing  but  as  they  drew  nearer  he 
exclaimed:  "Look!  They've  got  the  Pelican  sewed 
up  tighter  than  a  drum.  Looks  like  Mascola  hasn't 
tumbled  on  to  the  other  boat  yet." 

"Can't  tell." 

Dickie  searched  the  darkening  water  intently. 
Then  she  observed :  "I  don't  see  Mascola's  boat  any 
where.  Maybe  he's  cruising  the  island." 

Throttling  to  the   speed   of  an  ordinary   fishing 
craft  they  approached  the  fleet  and  dodged  skilfully  -, 
among  the  boats  in  the  direction  of  the  Pelican. 

Tom  Howard  had  but  little  news.  He  had  put  to 
sea  from  Northwest  Harbor  according  to  orders.  Had 
circled  the  island  and  appeared  off  the  east  coast  at 
daybreak  as  if  en  route  from  the  mainland.  Had 
stumbled  on  to  a  small  school  of  albacore  off  Black 
Point  and  started  fishing.  Mascola's  fleet  had  moved 
down  from  Hell-Hole  in  the  early  morning.  Had 
"fenced"  him.  The  Italian's  men  had  been  drinking 
freely  all  day  and  had  refused  to  give  him  sea-way  to 
get  out.  Of  Mascola  himself  he  had  seen  but  little. 
The  Italian  boss  had  been  down  in  the  morning  but 
had  paid  little  attention  to  his  men.  After  boarding 


226  EL  DIABLO 

but  one  of  his  boats  he  had  returned  with  the  Fuor 
'd' Italia  in  the  direction  of  the  Hell-Hole  Isthmus.  He 
had  not  been  back  since. 

"Is  the  Curlew  still  off  Northwest  Harbor?" 
inquired  Gregory. 

* 'Don't  know.  Haven't  tried  to  reach  them. 
Didn't  want  to  wise  these  fellows  we  had  anybody  else 
over  here.  'Sparks'  says  they've  got  a  rig  round  here 
somewhere  and  have  been  trying  to  hail  somebody  all 
day.  We've  been  getting  a  few  messages  from  the 
boys.  Most  of  them  are  off  the  other  side  of  the 
island  now,  waitin'  for  dark  to  pass  the  harbor." 

Gregory  and  Dickie  were  elated  to  find  the  fleet 
so  near.  At  the  same  time  both  looked  worried  at  the 
mention  of  another  wireless  equipment  in  the  imme 
diate  vicinity. 

"I'll  bet  they're  trying  to  reach  that  shore-set  the 
boys  spotted  the  other  day,"  hazarded  the  girl.  She 
looked  at  her  watch  and  glanced  toward  the  towering 
peaks  which  cast  their  shadows  far  out  into  the  water. 
"Well,  if  they  are,  we  can't  stop  them,"  she  observed. 
"What  do  you  say  we  start  along  the  north  shore  with 
an  eye  out  for  fish  and  Mascola?  Maybe  he's  already 
nosing  around  Northwest  Harbor." 

Gregory  agreed  to  the  girl's  suggestion. 

"Running  slowly  will  bring  us  up  with  the  'Curlew 
about  dark,"  he  said.  "Let's  go." 

Climbing  again  into  the  Richard,  Bronson  threw  in 
the  clutch  and  the  speed-craft  zigzagged  her  way 
through  the  fishing  fleet  and  headed  away  from  Black 


THE  GRAY  GHOST  227 

Point.  At  the  same  time  one  of  the  faster  of  the  alien 
boats  detached  itself  from  the  others  and  trailed  along 
in  their  wake. 

"Better  slip  that  fellow,"  advised  the  girl.  "We 
don't  want  him  tagging.  If  we  keep  well  in  he  won't 
be  able  to  see  us  long." 

Gregory  gave  Bronson  the  necessary  orders,  and 
the  Richard  bounded  away  from  her  pursuer  and 
raced  into  the  shadows  of  the  cliff.  When  they 
arrived  at  the  point  near  the  Hell-Hole  Isthmus,  the 
speed-craft  motor  began  to  miss  and  Bronson  guided 
the  Richard  in  the  lea  of  the  promontory  and  threw  out 
an  anchor. 

"Good  place  to  fix  that  right  now,"  he  said.  "You 
see  everything's  new  and  I've  been  feeding  too  much 
o;l.  The  plugs  are  all  gummed  up.  'Twon't  take  but 
a  minute  to  clean  them." 

While  he  worked  over  the  motor  Gregory's  eyes 
roamed  shoreward  to  the  cliffs.  It  was  quite  dark 
now  and  only  the  sound  of  the  lapping  waves  betok 
ened  the  presence  of  the  jagged  rocks  which  projected 
above  the  surface  of  the  water  near  the  shore.  It  was 
almost  here  he  remembered  suddenly  that  the  Sea  Gull 
had  been  wrecked.  As  he  looked  out  into  the  darkness, 
he  felt  Dickie's  fingers  tighten  on  his  arm. 

"Look !"  she  cried.    "What's  that  behind  us  ?" 

Gregory  turned  about  to  see  the  black  waters  to  the 
sternward  were  rippled  with  sparkling  threads  of 
silver-white.  From  out  the  darkness  came  a  swiftly 
moving  gray  shadow.  One  glance  astern  caused 


228  EL  DIABLO 

Bronson  to  slash  the  anchor-rope  which  held  the 
Richard.  Then  he  started  the  auxiliary  motor  and 
threw  the  speed-craft  forward  with  a  jerk.  The  same 
instant  a  long  gray  hull  brushed  by  them  and  dis 
appeared  into  the  gloom  as  silently  as  she  had  come. 
Bronson  whirled  the  Richard  about,  gazing  intently 
after  the  departing  stranger. 

"A  miss  is  as  good  as  a  mile/'  he  observed.  "If  it 
hadn't  been  for  the  dual  motor  we'd  have  been  out 
of  luck." 

"I  wouldn't  say  so/'  Hawkins  snapped.  "A  miss 
of  a  mile  wouldn't  give  a  man  heart-failure.  Lord. 
I'm  weak  as  a  cat." 

Kenneth  Gregory  leaned  closer  and  spoke  in  a 
voice  which  only  the  boatman  could  hear.  Bronson  put 
about  at  his  words  and  muffling  down,  followed  si 
lently  after  the  gray  boat. 

"Cut  out  your  lights." 

Bronson  threw  the  switch  at  Gregory's  command. 

"It's  against  the  law/'  he  muttered,  "but  I  reckon 
it's  safer  with  a  bird  like  that." 

Soon  the  strange  craft  was  again  dimly  visible, 
appearing  like  a  gray  blot  in  the  darkness  ahead.  Off 
the  Hell-Hole  she  turned  shoreward  and  was  lost  to 
view. 

"Tell  him  to  stop  the  motor  for  a  moment,"  whis 
pered  Dickie  Lang. 

When  Bronson  complied,  the  silence  for  the  space 
of  a  few  minutes  was  unbroken.  Then  from  the  little 
cove  came  the  muffled  cough  of  a  high-speed  motor. 


THE  GRAY  GHOST  229 

"All  right.     Head  out." 

The  Richard  sped  on  her  way  at  Gregory's  com 
mand.  Then  he  asked:  "What  did  that  sound  like 
to  you,  Bronson?" 

The  boatman  answered  promptly:  "That  was  the 
bird  you're  looking  for.  I've  heard  the  Fuor  d'ltalids 
exhaust  too  many  times  to  guess  wrong." 

Dickie  Lang  nodded  sagely  in  the  darkness,  while 
Bronson  volunteered : 

"I  think  I  know  the  one  that  nearly  run  us  down 
too.  Running  dark's  her  long  suit."  For  a  moment 
he  hesitated,  then  he  added :  "She  looked  a  whole  lot 
like  the  Gray  Ghost." 

"Interesting,  if  true,"  muttered  Hawkins,  sliding 
nearer  to  the  operator.  Then  he  asked  aloud :  "Who's 
the  Gray  Ghost?" 

Bronson  noted  the  suppressed  eagerness  of  the 
man's  tone.  Then  he  remembered  that  Hawkins  was 
a  newspaperman.  Reporters  were  a  nosey  class  as  a 
rule.  Perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  to  keep  still.  After 
all,  what  did  he,  Bronson,  know  about  the  Gray 
Ghost  f  What  did  anybody  really  know  about  her,  for 
that  matter  ? 

"The  Gray  Ghost  is  a  fishing-boat,"  he  said  quietly, 
"that  was  built  by  Al  Stevenson.  She's  bigger  and 
quieter  than  the  average.  She's  supposed  to  be  about 
as  fast  for  her  size  as  any  of  them.  I  heard  the  other 

day  she  was  owned  by  a  fellow  by  the  name  of " 

He  stopped  abruptly.  "I  can't  remember  the  man's 
name,"  he  concluded. 


230  EL  DIABLO 

Hawkins  knew  Bronson  was  lying.  Straightway 
he  decided  to  find  out  what  he  could  about  the  owner 
ship  of  the  Gray  Ghost.  Of  the  vessel  herself,  he  had 
some  knowledge  though  he  gave  no  intimation  that  he 
had  ever  heard  the  name  before. 

"Mascola  must  own  the  Gray  Ghost  himself,  the 
way  he's  sticking  around  her,"  observed  Dickie  Lang. 
"He  must  have  been  waiting  in  there  for  her  or  he'd 
have  been  scouting  around  before  this." 

Gregory  agreed. 

"Tom  said  they  were  pretty  well  fished  out  down 
below,"  he  contributed,  "and  Mascola  hadn't  given 
them  a  new  location.  He's  evidently  got  something  on 
his  mind  that's  more  important  to  him  than  fishing." 

Bronson  said  nothing  but  smiled  grimly  in  the 
darkness.  Perhaps  that  wasn't  such  a  wild  guess,  at 
that.  But  it  was  none  of  his  business.  His  firm  was 
building  boats  for  the  Italian,  so  why  should  he  say 
anything  ? 

The  sky  was  dark  overhead  and  a  freshening 
breeze  sprang  up  when  they  reached  the  tip  of  the 
island  and  headed  shoreward.  Rounding  Devil's  Point 
they  came  in  full  view  of  the  glimmering  lights  of  the 
fishing  fleet. 

"Looks  like  home,"  commented  Dickie.  "Wonder 
how  long  the  boys  have  been  there."  She  checked  up 
the  lights  rapidly,  then  announced :  "They're  all  there 
but  one.  Probably  the  supply-boat.  She  isn't  due  yet. 
That's  pretty  quick  work  I'd  say." 

Hailing  the  first  of  his  fishing-boats,  they  learned 


THE  GRAY  GHOST  231 

that  the  voyage  from  the  mainland  had  been  without 
incident.  The  albacore  were  thick  about  the  island. 
They  were  keeping  the  fish  around  with  live  bait.  All 
of  the  fishermen  predicted  a  record  haul. 

Proceeding  to  the  Curlew,  Bronson  tied  the 
^Richard  alongside  and  the  party  from  the  speed-launch 
climbed  aboard.  Then  the  girl  conferred  with  Gregory 
and  plans  for  the  night  were  formulated.  The  fleet 
would  lay  at  anchor  with  every  motor  in  instant  readi 
ness  to  get  the  respective  vessels  under  way  at  a  given 
signal.  The  men  would  alternate  on  an  anchor  watch 
and  keep  the  fish  "chummed"  up  during  the  night. 
Those  who  were  off  duty  would  get  their  needed  rest 
and  make  no  unnecessary  noise.  No  vessel  was  to 
move  from  her  anchorage  without  permission  from  the 
Curlezv.  Fishing  would  begin  at  daybreak. 

With  preparations  completed  for  the  night,  Greg 
ory's  party  made  themselves  comfortable  aboard  the 
Curlew.  A  message  was  despatched  to  the  Pelican 
instructing  Howard  to  join  the  fleet  shortly  after  mid 
night.  And  the  cannery  was  notified  of  the  safe 
arrival  of  the  boats  at  the  island. 

After  supper  Hawkins  clung  tenaciously  to  Bron 
son  and  the  two  men  retired  to  the  bow  and  conversed 
in  low  tones.  Gregory  sat  with  Dickie  Lang  in  the 
stern  and  for  some  time  puffed  at  his  pipe  in  silence. 
The  yellow  rays  which  issued  from  the  fresneled  glass 
light  on  the  mast-head  fell  full  upon  the  girl's  figure 
and  Gregory  saw  that  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  dark 
outlines  of  the  coast. 


232  EL  DIABLO 

"What  do  you  make  of  Mascola?" 

Dickie  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  know,"  she 
answered.  "He  has  me  guessing  right  now.  I  can't 
understand  why  he's  been  hanging  round  Hell-Hole 
all  day  and  hasn't  tumbled  on  to  the  Curlew.  He 
seems  to  have  forgotten  his  boats  entirely." 

"I  have  an  idea  he  has,"  Gregory  answered. 
"Sometimes  I  think  that  perhaps  fishing  is  only  a 
small  part  of  Mascola's  business.  We  both  know  he 
hasn't  made  much  with  his  boats  in  the  last  few 
months,  yet  Bronson  says  he's  having  twenty  new 
launches  built  at  Port  Angeles.  That  will  run  into  a 
big  bunch  of  money  at  present  prices." 

"You're  not  the  only  one  who  has  ideas  to-night," 
Dickie  said  softly.  "Being  around  Diablo  always 
makes  me  think — and  wonder." 

"What?"    Gregory  encouraged. 

The  girl  moved  closer  to  his  side. 

"I'm  wondering  about  the  same  things  our  fathers 
wondered  about,"  she  said.  As  Gregory  said  nothing, 
she  went  on  hurriedly:  "Did  you  ever  stop  to  think 
that  if  Mascola  and  that  gray  boat  lay  in  at  Hell-Hole 
that  they  are  doing  it  with  Bandrist's  permission? 
That  means  that  whatever  they  are  doing  there,  Ban- 
drist  is  in  on  it."  She  paused  abruptly  and  her  eyes 
rested  full  on  Gregory's  face.  "I  have  an  idea  that  old 
Rock  is  in  on  it,  too,"  she  said.  "He  and  Bandrist  are 
pretty  thick  evidently,  and  Rock  always  did  stick  up 
for  Mascola.  And  all  three  of  them  are  doing  all  they 
can  against  us." 


THE  GRAY  GHOST  233 

"And  you  think  it  is  something  else  than  fishing?" 
Gregory  prompted. 

"Yes,  I'm  sure  of  it.  I  think  our  fathers  had  the 
same  idea.  I  believe  they  came  over  here  alone  that 
night  to  find  out." 

"Do  you  think — "  Gregory  began. 

But  the  girl  answered  his  unfinished  question. 

"Yes/'  she  said  slowly,  "I  think  they  found  out. 
That  is  why  they  never  got  out  alive." 

"But  they  were  wrecked  and  drowned." 

Dickie  shook  her  head  slowly.  "I  have  never 
thought  so,"  she  answered  in  a  half-whisper. 
"Listen,"  she  went  on,  "boats  like  the  Sea  Gull  don't 
wreck  themselves  and  a  better  man  with  a  launch  than 
my  dad  never  lived.  Men  like  him  don't  drown  easily. 
He  was  a  regular  fish  in  the  water  and  had  got  out  of 
many  a  smash-up  before." 

"But  they  were  drowned.  The  coroner  himself 
told  me " 

"You're  right,"  she  interrupted.  "Any  man  can 
be  drowned.  How  long  do  you  suppose  you  and  Tom 
Howard  would  have  lasted  on  the  island  if  you  had 
insisted  on  staying  the  night  we  were  over  here?" 

Gregory  considered  her  words  carefully.  In  the 
light  of  past  events,  they  held  some  truth.  But  if  Bill 
Lang  and  his  father  had  met  with  foul  play,  why  were 
the  bodies  ever  recovered?  Why  would  it  not  have 
been  simpler  to  have  made  way  with  them  entirely? 
He  put  the  question  and  Dickie  answered  promptly : 

"That  would  have  caused  a  search  of  the  island. 


234  EL  DIABLO 

Just  what  they  do  not  want,  if  they  are  up  to  anything 
crooked  over  here.  With  the  bodies  recovered  and 
the  boat  smashed,  it  had  all  the  appearance  of  a  natural 
wreck." 

"Why  have  you  never  said  anything  like  this 
before?" 

Dickie  hesitated.  Then  she  answered  simply. 
"Because  I  never  felt  as  if  I  knew  you  well  enough. 
I  have  no  proof.  It's  only  a  girl's  idea,  and  one  I'm 
afraid  you  would  have  taken  but  little  stock  in." 

"You're  mistaken,"  Gregory  replied.  "I  would 
have.  And  perhaps  by  now  we  could  have  had  the 
proof." 

"No.  We've  done  just  right.  If  we  had  pretended 
we  suspected  anything  they  would  have  gone  to  coven 
There's  only  one  way  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  this  thing 
and  that  is  to  beat  Mascola  at  his  own  game.  Make 
him  think  that  fish  are  the  only  thing  in  the  world  we 
care  for  around  Diablo.  And  while  we're  fishing  over 
here,  keep  our  eyes  open  and  learn  what  we  can." 

Before  Gregory  could  reply  the  silence  of  the  night 
was  broken  by  the  sharp  exhaust  of  a  high-speed 
motor.  Looking  in  the  direction  of  the  sound,  he  saw 
a  flash  of  red  pierce  the  darkness  and  heard  the  girl's 
voice  close  to  his  ear. 

"I  guess  we're  due  to  find  out  something  now. 
Here  comes  'Mascola." 

Together  they  watched  the  red  light  brighten. 
Then  came  a  flash  of  green  as  the  oncoming  launch 
swerved  and  sped  toward  them.  In  a  few  moments 


THE  GRAY  GHOST  235 

Mascola  had  located  the  flag-ship  and  the  Fuor  d' Italia 
lay  snorting  angrily  by  the  Richard's  side. 

"I  want  to  see  the  boss,"  demanded  the  Italian. 

Gregory  leaned  over  the  rail  and  focused  his  flash 
light  on  Mascola. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  called. 

Mascola  blinked  under  the  bright  rays.  Seated 
beside  him  was  another  man  who  leaned  closer  into  the 
shadow  of  the  fishing-boat. 

"I  want  you  to  move,"  Mascola  said  thickly.  "My 
men  were  here  first.  Plenty  of  fish  at  San  Anselmo. 
Many  as  here.  If  you  go  to  the  other  island  there  will 
be  no  trouble." 

"And  if  we  stay?" 

Mascola's  passenger  looked  up  quickly  at  Gregory's 
words,  and  the  light  fell  full  upon  his  face. 

It  was  Bandrist. 

"I  hope  you  will  not  decide  to  stay,"  he  said  slowly. 
"As  I  have  told  you  before,  I'm  not  seeking  trouble  on 
this  island.  Mascola's  men  have  been  drinking  too 
much  and  are  ugly.  A  supply-boat  arrived  to-day 
from  the  mainland  with  too  much  liquor.  I  am  having 
some  difficulty  with  my  own  men.  I  hope  you  will 
help  us  avoid  trouble." 

Gregory  answered  them  at  once. 

"If  there  is  any  trouble,  it  will  be  of  your  making. 
The  ocean  is  free  to  all.  We  are  interfering  with  no 
one's  rights.  We're  here.  The  fish  are  here.  And 
here  we're  going  to  stay." 

"I'll  show  you,  you " 


236  EL  DIABLO 

Bandrist  checked  the  Italian's  angry  outburst  by 
placing  a  hand  firmly  upon  his  arm. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  began.  But  Mascola's  open  muffler 
drowned  his  words  and  the  Fuor  d' Italia  leaped  away 
into  the  darkness. 

"Mascola's  drunk,"  commented  Dickie,  looking 
after  them.  "Otherwise,  he  would  never  have  talked 
like  that.  It's  a  wonder  Bandrist  ever  mixed  up  with 
him."  She  turned  about  and  confronted  Gregory. 
Behind  him  were  Hawkins,  Bronson  and  the  crew  of 
the  Curleiv.  "This  means  we've  got  to  move,"  she 
exclaimed.  "We'd  better  round  up  the  bunch,  give 
them  their  positions  and  start  fishing." 

Gregory  and  the  girl  climbed  into  the  Richard, 
calling  to  Bronson  to  follow. 

"Tell  'Sparks'  to  send  word  to  Howard  to  beat  it 
out  with  the  Pelican  right  away,"  Gregory  instructed 
Hawkins.  Then  he  exclaimed  to  Dickie  as  she  took 
her  seat  beside  him :  "It  looks  like  Mascola  was  spoil 
ing  for  a  fight.  And  if  he  is  I'll  say  he's  due  for  the 
surprise  of  his  life." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

STRICTLY   ON   THE   DEFENSIVE 

HPHE  Richard  was  in  motion  before  the  echoes  of 
•*•  the  Fuor  d' I  folia's  gatlin-like  exhaust  had  died 
away.  Directing-  Bronson  to  take  them  alongside  each 
of  the  vessels  which  composed  the  fleet,  Gregory  and 
Dickie  Lang  boarded  the  fishing  vessels  and  conferred 
with  the  respective  captains.  Gregory's  instructions 
were  phrased  with  military  directness. 

Every  launch  was  assigned  a  definite  position 
which  it  was  to  assume  at  once  and  hold  at  all  cost. 
The  fleet  was  divided  into  three  divisions.  The  main 
unit,  comprising  the  vessels  equipped  with  the  live-bait 
tanks,  were  to  begin  "chumming"  at  once  within  a 
given  area.  As  soon  as  practicable,  fishing  was  to  com 
mence.  The  second  division,  made  up  for  the  most 
part  of  the  heavier,  Diesel-motored  vessels,  was  to  lay 
to  in  V  formation  about  the  fishermen  to  protect 
them  from  interference  in  the  direction  from  which 
the  fish  were  running.  The  remainder  of  the  fleet 
were  to  stand  by  as  a  rearguard,  cover  the  extreme 
flanks  and  maintain  a  reserve. 

Before  taking  leave  of  each  craft  as  it  left  to  go 
to  its  new  position,  Gregory  briefly  addressed  the 

237 


238  EL  DIABLO 

crew :  "Get  this,  fellows.  We're  here  to  fish.  Not  to 
fight.  If  trouble  comes,  let  Mascola  start  it.  If  he 
does,  I  expect  you  to  hold  your  positions.  Keep  in  the 
clear  and  use  no  firearms.  Remember,  what  you  do 
to-night,  binds  me.  Play  safe.  Keep  cool.  But  get 
the  fish." 

To  a  man,  the  ex-sailors  understood  the  seriousness 
of  the  situation,  though  there  were  some  who  argued 
against  the  poor  fighting  policy  of  letting  the  other 
fellow  hit  the  first  blow.  The  radical  element,  how 
ever,  were  soon  quieted  by  the  older  and  more  conser 
vative  men,  and  all  agreed  to  stay  in  the  clear  so 
"nobody  could  hang  anything  on  the  boss/' 

Tom  Howard  had  arrived  with  the  Pelican  when 
Gregory  and  Dickie  Lang  returned  to  the  Curlew. 
The  fisherman  brought  the  news  that  the  men  of  the 
alien  fleet  were  in  a  high  state  of  intoxication.  More 
over,  they  appeared  to  be  completely  out  of  live  bait. 

Dickie  smiled  grimly.  "That  means  that  if  Mascola 
does  send  them  down  here,  he'll  just  be  looking  for 
trouble.  If  they  haven't  the  bait,  all  they  can  do  will 
be  to  try  to  steal  our  school  like  they  did  before,  and 
I  guess  this  time  they'll  find  they're  out  of  luck." 

"Met  Mascola  on  my  way  down,"  Howard 
announced.  "He  wras  running  wide-open,  heading 
straight  for  Black  Point." 

Gregory  frowned.  "It's  hard  to  tell  what  Mascola 
will  do  to-night,"  he  said. 

The  Pelican  was  despatched  at  once  to  take  her 
position  as  the  leader  of  the  front  rank.  As  the  Curlew 


STRICTLY  ON  THE  DEFENSIVE       239 

made  ready  to  get  under  way,  Hawkins  appeared  at 
the  rail. 

"Don't  forget  the  press,"  he  called.  "If  I'm  going 
to  do  this  affair  justice  I've  got  to  be  at  the  ringside." 

Gregory  moved  nearer  to  Bronson  and  allowed  the 
newspaperman  to  accompany  the  party  on  the  speed- 
craft.  Then  the  Richard  sped  away  to  see  that  all  the 
boats  were  in  their  proper  places.  Arriving  in  the 
center  of  the  fishing  area,  Dickie  Lang  watched  the 
men  "chumming"  the  fish  and  suggested  they  throw 
out  their  lines  at  once. 

"I  don't  like  the  looks  of  the  weather,"  she  confided 
to  Gregory.  "It  feels  like  a  blow.  I'm  going  to  have 
a  look  at  the  glass  on  the  Snipe"  Gregory  noticed 
that  the  girl  appeared  worried  when  she  returned  to 
the  Richard.  "Dropping  fast,"  she  announced.  "It 
may  be  just  a  squall  or  it  may  be  a  real  blow.  This 
is  no  place  for  us  in  either  case.  We  must  rush  the 
fishing  all  we  can." 

Gregory  agreed  and  gave  the  necessary  orders. 
From  the  sides  of  the  Snipe  the  lines  flashed  over  the 
rail.  On  the  instant  the  albacore  began  to  strike.  As 
the  Richard  bounded  away  to  notify  the  other  boats 
of  the  order  to  hurry  operations,  the  girl  observed : 

"The  fish  are  heading  close  in  all  right.  They're 
running  from  something.  Now  is  the  time  to  hit  it 
hard.  Oughtn't  to  take  long  the  way  they're  starting. 
I  must  see  that  the  boys  have  all  the  barbs  off  the 
hooks.  We  have  to  work  fast.  And  when  the  blow 
comes,  we'll  have  to  get  clear  of  the  Diablo  coast." 


240  EL  DIABLO 

The  second  tour  of  the  fishing  fleet  was  only  partly 
completed  when  Dickie  directed  Gregory's  gaze  in 
the  direction  of  the  point  off  Northwest  Harbor. 

"Here  they  come,"  she  cried.  "Mascola's  looking 
for  trouble  just  as  I  told  you." 

Gregory  surveyed  the  bobbing  lights  in  silence  as 
they  moved  nearer;  saw  the  red-lights  blur  and  fade 
into  green  as  the  vessels  changed  direction  and  headed 
shoreward;  noted  one  twinkling  light  running  far  in 
advance  of  its  fellows ;  saw  it  swerve  and  double  again 
into  red  and  green.  That  meant  that  the  Fuor  d' Italia 
was  bearing  down  upon  them.  Directing  Bronson  to 
intercept  the  Italian,  Gregory  explained : 

"I  want  to  give  Mascola  another  chance.  We're 
not  looking  for  trouble.  He  can  lay  to  the  seaward 
but  he's  got  to  give  us  sea-way  to  get  out  if  it  roughens 
up." 

The  Richard  swung  wide  and  came  abreast  the 
Fuor  d' Italia.  Then  it  came  to  Mascola  that  the 
strange  craft  on  his  left  had  some  speed.  Above  the 
roar  of  his  own  exhaust  he  heard  his  name  called  in 
a  peremptory  hail.  The  hot  blood  surged  to  his  face 
and  he  stepped  on  the  throttle.  He  had  no  time  to  talk. 
He  must  spot  the  position  of  the  cannery  boats  and 
give  his  men  instructions  how  to  break  through. 

The  Fuor  d' Italia  bounded  away  with  a  sullen  roar. 
But  before  Mascola  could  circle  in  the  direction  of  the 
lights  of  the  fleet,  the  Richard  was  again  on  his  rail. 
Cursing  to  himself,  the  Italian  advanced  his  spark  and 
pressed  hard  on  the  throttle.  But  though  he  gained  a 


STRICTLY  ON  THE  DEFENSIVE       241 

few  feet  on  his  pursuer,  he  knew  that  he  dared  not  try 
to  make  the  turn.  His  boat  would  "turn  turtle"  or  be 
cut  in  two  by  the  craft  behind. 

On  the  two  boats  sped  through  the  darkness.  The 
lights  of  the  fishing  fleet  flashed  by  them  like  the 
gleam  of  switch-lights,  seen  from  an  express  train. 
Mascola's  anger  mounted.  His  men  were  waiting  for 
orders  and  he  had  seen  nothing  of  the  enemy's  forma 
tion.  A  plan  formed  quickly  in  his  brain.  It  was 
dangerous  of  course.  But  the  liquor  gave  him  cour 
age.  Removing  one  hand  from  the  wheel,  he  extended 
it  toward  the  switch-board. 

"He  doesn't  dare  make  the  turn  at  this  speed," 
Dickie  shouted  in  Gregory's  ear.  "Tell  Bronson  to 
watch  him  close  when  he  doubles  to  come  back.  He'll 
head  into  the  swell,  to  the  starboard." 

Gregory  was  giving  the  boatman  the  message  when 
he  felt  Dickie  grasp  his  arm. 

"He's  switched  off  his  lights,"  she  cried.  "He's 
going  to  try  to  dodge  us,  running  dark." 

Bronson  had  already  slackened  speed  at  sight  of 
the  disappearing  lights  ahead.  Then  he  put  the 
Richard  hard  over,  and  the  speed-craft  swerved  with  a 
jerk  which  left  her  passengers  crowding  close  against 
one  another. 

"Give  her  the  gun,"  shouted  Gregory.  "Head 
back.  Don't  let  him  slip  us." 

As  the  boatman  complied  and  the  Richard  began 
to  lift  her  hull  from  the  sea,  the  dark  waters  ahead 
were  brightened  by  a  phosphorescent  flash.  Directly 


242  EL  DIABLO 

across  their  course  lay  the  Fuor  d' Italia.  Twisting  the 
steering  wheel  with  only  the  slightest  pressure  of  his 
fingers  to  avoid  turning  the  Richard  over,  Bronson 
opened  the  cut-out  and  stepped  hard  on  the  throttle. 
The  speed-craft  dipped,  then  raised  and  bumped  the 
Fuor  d' Italia  beam  to  beam  as  she  raced  by. 

The  shock  of  the  collision  threw  Mascola  half  from 
his  seat  and  had  a  decidedly  sobering  effect  upon  his 
senses.  He  had  noted  his  boat  tremble  at  the  impact 
and  crowd  away  from  the  stranger;  had  felt  the  strain 
ing  of  her  timbers.  Now  he  noticed  that  his  motor 
was  missing  badly.  A  loose  wire  probably.  He  made 
haste  to  repair  the  trouble  and  switched  on  his  running 
lights.  The  Fuor  d' Italia  was  too  light  to  take  chances 
of  roughing  it  in  the  dark.  As  he  worked,  he  heard  a 
voice  hail  him. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  demanded  angrily. 
"Damn  you,  you  hit  my  boat." 

The  lights  of  the  returning  motor-boat  drew  along 
side  before  Gregory  answered : 

"Listen,  Mascola.  If  you're  looking  for  trouble, 
this  is  the  place  to  find  it.  If  you're  not,  you  can  move 
out  to  sea  and  get  as  many  fish  as  we  are.  We'll  not 
bother  you.  There's  plenty  of  albacore  over  here 
to-night  for  everybody.  If  you  try  to  break  through 
us,  it  will  be  up  to  you." 

Mascola's  anger  came  in  a  torrent  of  Italian  words. 
Then  he  composed  himself  sufficiently  to  speak  in 
broken  English:  "This  Mr.  Bandrist's  island.  He 


STRICTLY  ON  THE  DEFENSIVE       243 

tell  me  I  fish  here.  He  say  you  go.  You  stay,  you 
like  trouble.  My  men  like  fight  any  time/' 

"Go  to  it,  then/'  Gregory  answered  quietly.  "And 
when  you  see  your  friend  Bandrist,  tell  him  for  me 
that  he  hasn't  bought  Diablo.  He's  only  leasing  the 
land.  If  he  has  any  more  claim  to  the  water  than  we 
have,  he'll  have  to  show  us." 

Mascola  completed  his  repairs,  started  his  motor 
and  raced  away  in  the  direction  of  his  fleet  with  the 
Richard  running  close  at  his  side.  But  when  he  came 
abreast  of  the  cannery  fishing-boats,  he  made  no 
effort  to  head  in. 

"He  don't  want  to  rough  it  any  more  with  this 
one,"  Bronson  commented.  "I  reckon  when  he  looks 
over  his  boat  it'll  mean  a  job  for  the  shop  putting  in  a 
few  ribs." 

Mascola  returned  to  his  fleet,  his  cheeks  burning 
with  rage.  In  the  first  preliminary  skirmish  with  the 
enemy,  he  realized  he  had  been  beaten.  He  had  found 
out  nothing  of  value.  Had  damaged  his  boat  too.  no 
doubt.  Well,  he'd  make  somebody  pay  for  it  before 
morning.  Circling  his  boats,  he  gave  orders  for  an 
immediate  advance  in  the  direction  of  the  cannery 
fleet. 

Kenneth  Gregory  looked  after  the  departing  lights 
of  the  Fuor  d' Italia. 

"Score  one  for  the  invaders  of  Bandrist's  island," 
he  said  grimly.  "Mascola  didn't  learn  much  on  his 
reconnoitering  expedition,  except  that  we  had  a  better 
boat  than  his."  Then  he  turned  to  Bronson. 


244  EL  DIABLO 

us  up  to  the  other  end,"  he  instructed.  "I  want  to 
tell  the  boys  to  keep  as  close  in  as  they  can  so  Mascola's 
boats  will  have  to  skirt  the  reef  to  get  by." 

When  they  arrived  at  the  indicated  spot  and  the  V 
broadened  according  to  orders,  the  lights  of  the  alien 
fleet  could  be  discerned  moving  toward  them. 

"Here  they  come,"  announced  Dickie  Lang. 
"Looks  as  if  they  were  going  to  try  to  crowd  in  from 
the  north  side." 

Gregory  smiled.  "That's  just  what  I  want  them 
to  do,"  he  answered.  "One  of  the  benefits  of  recon- 
noitering  is  to  get  an  idea  of  just  what  you're  going 
into.  If  Mascola  had  taken  a  good  look,  he  wouldn't 
have  come  that  way." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

BATTLE  OF  NORTHWEST  HARBOR 

/CONVOYED  by  his  fishing  fleet,  Mascola  came 
^•^  steadily  on.  Cruising  to  the  seaward  of  the  can 
nery  boats  he  circled,  laid  to  and  critically  surveyed 
the  bobbing  lights  in  the  narrow  channel  which  was 
flanked  on  both  sides  by  saw-toothed  reefs.  The  fish 
were  coming  from  the  north  and  west.  Doubtless  the 
American  fisherman  already  had  them  well  "chummed 
up"  with  their  live  bait.  He  would  force  an  entrance 
among  the  cannery  boats  if  they  did  not  give  way  and 
take  their  school.  He  had  done  it  before.  It  was 
simple  enough.  Directing  his  boats  to  follow,  he  led 
them  on. 

Kenneth  Gregory  stood  in  the  bow  of  the  Pelican 
with  a  megaphone  and  directed  the  position  of  the 
boats  which  made  up  his  first  line  of  defense.  His 
plan  of  keeping  Mascola  away  from  his  fishing  fleet 
was  nothing  more  or  less  than  just  straight  football 
formation,  with  an  augmented  line  to  withstand  the 
opposing  pressure.  The  Pelican  formed  the  center  of 
the  wedge.  To  her  right  and  left  followed  the  heavy 
Diesel-motored  vessels  with  the  Curlew  and  Snipe 
guarding  the  extreme  ends.  Behind  the  first  line  came 

245 


246  EL  DIABLO 

the  reserve  which  closely  covered  the  fishing-boats 
cruising  the  center  area.  Every  boat  was  at  its  proper 
station,  awaiting  the  signal  from  the  Pelican. 

It  came  with  Gregory's  word  to  Howard:  "All 
right,  Tom.  Let's  go." 

He  stood  at  Howard's  side  as  the  fisherman 
whistled  for  sea-way  and  moved  his  vessel  forward 
with  the  fleet  flanking  him  astern  in  V  formation. 
Mascola's  boats  gave  no  heed  to  the  signal  save  to 
draw  closer  together  and  slacken  speed  as  they  entered 
the  narrow  channel. 

Again  the  cannery  boats  shrieked  a  warning  and 
the  wedge  narrowed  with  the  waterway  until  only 
the  bare  width  of  a  boat  separated  the  beams  of  the 
defending  vessels.  Dead  ahead,  and  only  a  few  boat- 
lengths  away,  twinkled  the  lights  of  the  alien  fleet. 
Gregory  grasped  the  rail  of  the  engine-house  and 
braced  himself  for  the  shock.  The  next  instant  the 
foremost  of  Mascola's  boats  struck  the  Pelican  a  glanc 
ing  blow  on  the  bow. 

The  heavy  fishing-boat  quivered  from  stem  to 
stern  from  the  impact.  Then  the  powerful  Diesel 
engine  came  into  play.  The  drunken  skipper  of  the 
Lura  felt  his  craft  being  shunted  to  the  side.  Before 
he  could  gather  his  wits  together,  another  American 
boat  brushed  his  outside  rail  and  crowded  him  forcibly 
against  the  craft  he  had  endeavored  to  ram.  Caught 
between  the  heavy  hulls  of  the  Pelican  and  Albatross, 
the  Lura  grated,  beam  to  beam,  her  timbers  creaking 
and  twisting  from  the  strain,  her  propeller  churning 


BATTLE  OF  NORTHWEST  HARBOR    247 

the  water  in  a  vain  effort  to  break  through  the  tang- 
like  grip  of  the  two  boats  which  disputed  her  passage. 

The  drunken  crew  of  the  Lura  surged  to  the  rail 
with  wild  cries  of  rage.  The  air  was  filled  with  flying 
missiles.  Came  the  sharp  snap  of  breaking  glass  and 
the  dull  thud  of  heavy  objects  hurled  from  the  alien 
craft  to  the  deck  of  the  Pelican. 

"Stay  under  cover,"  Gregory  commanded  the 
crew.  "Stand  by  if  they  try  to  board." 

A  flying  bit  of  scrap-iron  gashed  his  forehead  and 
caused  the  blood  to  trickle  over  his  eyes.  He  wiped 
it  away  with  his  hand  and  turned  to  observe  the 
progress  of  the  other  vessels. 

The  engagement  was  now  general.  Mascola's  boats 
were  trying  to  smash  their  way  through.  But  the  V 
was  as  yet  unbroken.  That,  he  could  tell  by  the  solid 
formation  of  the  boats  in  reserve.  They  had  not 
found  it  necessary  to  separate. 

The  night  was  enlivened  with  the  shrill  cries  of  the 
aliens.  Gregory  noticed  that  there  was  congestion  of 
lights  on  his  left  wing.  He  reflected  suddenly  that 
that  was  where  the  Curlew  was  stationed.  And  Dickie 
Lang  was  on  the  Curlew.  Why  had  the  girl  persisted 
in  her  determination  to  take  an  active  part  in  the  con 
flict?  Perhaps  she  might  be  already  wounded.  Hit 
by  a  piece  of  flying  iron  or  a  wine-bottle. 

"How  about  it?"  Howard's  voice  recalled  him  to 
his  plan  of  battle. 

Gregory  looked  hastily  along  his  front  line.  "All 
right,"  he  exclaimed.  "Go  to  it." 


248  EL  DIABLO 

The  Pelican's  whistle  shrieked  two  shrill  blasts  in 
reply,  the  signal  for  every  man  at  the  wheel  to  go  full 
ahead  and  put  his  respective  craft  hard  over. 

Mascola  cursed  volubly  at  the  increasing  jumble  of 
his  boats.  They  had  already  lost  their  way  and  were 
only  tending  to  raise  a  further  barrier  to  his  entrance 
to  the  fleet.  If  he  rammed,  he  must  ram  his  own 
boats  as  well  as  those  of  the  enemy.  It  flashed  over 
his  heated  brain  that  the  American  had  chosen  a  diffi 
cult  position  for  him  to  break  through.  The  narrow 
ness  of  the  sea-way  prevented  him  from  engaging 
them  in  mass  formation.  Then  he  became  conscious  of 
another  fact  as  two  sharp  whistles  sounded  above  the 
uproar.  His  lead  boats  were  being  crowded  back 
against  their  fellows  with  a  twisting  movement  which 
was  carrying  them  in  the  direction  of  the  reef.  The 
channel  had  been  too  narrow  to  break  through  the  solid 
wall  of  Diesels.  A  puff  of  wind  from  the  southeast 
helped  Mascola  to  make  up  his  mind.  Directing  a  sum 
mary  withdrawal,  he  sped  away  toward  the  reef  to 
pilot  his  boats  again  to  safety  from  the  dangerous 
shore. 

Gregory  directed  the  pivot  movement  of  the  can 
nery  wedge  until  the  last  of  the  alien  fleet  had  fled 
from  the  channel.  In  the  first  preliminary  engage 
ment,  the  enemy  had  been  beaten  back.  At  what  cost 
he  must  find  out  at  once.  As  he  turned  about  to  signal 
the  Richard,  a  voice  which  he  recognized  as  Hawkins', 
came  to  him  from  the  darkness  astern. 

"Bronson's  knocked  out." 


BATTLE  OF  NORTHWEST  HARBOR    249 

Leaving  Howard  to  supervise  the  return  of  the 
advance  line  to  their  original  positions,  Gregory 
instructed  the  sailors  to  launch  a  dory  over  the  rail  of 
the  Pelican  and  was  rowed  away  in  the  direction  of  the 
Richard. 

Hawkins  had  but  little  to  tell.  The  Richard  had 
been  plying  about  according  to  orders,  to  report  any 
break  in  the  wedge.  As  she  skirted  the  right  end 
close  to  the  Snipe,  some  one  had  thrown  a  bottle  from 
the  nearest  enemy  craft.  It  had  struck  Bronson  in 
the  head.  The  Richard  had  drifted  backward. 
Hawkins  had  thrown  out  an  anchor.  That  was  all. 
Gregory  examined  Bronson  while  Hawkins  \vas  speak 
ing.  The  man  was  not  badly  injured.  But  his  loss 
would  be  a  serious  one.  Without  the  speed-boat,  Greg 
ory  would  be  greatly  handicapped.  He  set  his  jaw 
grimly  in  the  darkness.  He  could  not  afford  to  tie  up 
the  Richard.  He  would  run  her  himself.  Directing 
Hawkins  to  pull  the  anchor,  he  slid  into  Bronson's 
seat  and  focused  the  rays  of  his  flash-light  on  the 
speed-boat's  starting  mechanism. 

"Are  you  going  to  try  to  run  her?"  Hawkins 
inquired  as  he  tugged  at  the  hook. 

"I  am  going  to  run  her.  Bronson  showed  me  how. 
It's  taking  some  chance  of  course.  But  not  so  much  as 
tying  her  up.  We've  got-to  have  the  Richard,  Bill. 
That's  all  there  is  to  it." 

Gregory  started  the  motor  and,  proceeding  at 
quarter-speed,  set  off  to  take  Bronson  to  the  Curleiv. 
By  so  doing,  he  realized,  he  could  accomplish  a  dual 


250  EL  DIABLO 

purpose,  find  out  about  the  safety  of  Dickie  Lang  and 
leave  'the  boatman  in  her  care.  That,  he  reflected, 
would  give  her  a  safer  though  more  inactive  role. 

The  girl  greeted  him  from  the  rail  of  the  Curlew. 
Not  a  man  had  been  scratched  aboard  her  vessel.  Her 
craft  had  held  the  pivot  and  twisted  two  of  the  alien 
boats  until  they  bumped  the  reef.  A  man  had  been 
reported  injured  on  the  Falcon. 

Placing  Bronson  in  the  dory,  Gregory  directed 
the  skiff  to  be  pulled  aboard  the  Curlew.  Then  he 
climbed  over  the  rail  with  Hawkins. 

"Bronson  was  hurt  by  a  flying  bottle/'  he 
explained.  "Will  you  look  after  him?  I've  got  to 
round  up  the  boys  and  see  what's  doing." 

"You're  hurt  yourself/'  Dickie  observed  as  the 
rays  of  the  cabin  lamp  fell  upon  Gregory's  face. 

"Just  a  scratch,"  he  said  quickly.  "If  you'll  look 
out  for  Bronson  I'll  be  off." 

Dickie  Lang  whirled  about.  "Look  out  for  this 
man,  Jack.  See  you  later,  Jones.  I'm  going  with  Mr. 
Gregory/' 

Reluctantly  Gregory  consented  to  allow  the  girl  to 
accompany  him  in  the  Richard.  An  instant  later  they 
were  on  their  way  to  round  up  the  fleet. 

Injuries  were  few  among  the  crews  of  the  defend 
ing  vessels.  Bruises  and  cuts  summed  up  the  physical 
damage  done  by  Mascola's  men.  One  of  the  boats  was 
leaking,  but  Sorenson  was  holding  the  water  easily 
with  the  pumps.  The  Falcon's  shaft  was  sprung  but 
the  propeller  was  still  turning.  To  a  man,  the  various 


BATTLE  OF  NORTHWEST  HARBOR    251 

captains  reported  that  their  men  had  obeyed  instruc 
tions  to  the  letter.  No  acts  of  violence  had  as  yet 
been  committed  by  any  of  the  American  crews.  The 
ex-sailors,  though  chafing  at  their  inaction,  had 
assumed  the  defensive  throughout. 

The  next  thing  was  to  arrange  to  oppose  Mascola's 
next  move. 

"Whatever  he  does,  he's  got  to  do  mighty  quick," 
observed  Dickie  as  the  Richard  nosed  her  way  among 
the  albacore  fishermen.  "It's  roughing  up  in  the  last 
five  minutes  and  the  glass  is  falling  all  the  time." 

"There's  only  one  thing  he  can  do,  as  near  as  I 
can  figure,"  Gregory  answered.  "And  that's  to  come 
down  the  harbor  channel  and  hit  us  from  the  stern.  If 
he  does  that,"  he  added  quickly,  "we'll  have  to  be  care 
ful  not  to  block  the  sea-way  leading  into  the  harbor. 
My  idea  is  to  move  farther  up.  Then  if  the  blow  does 
come,  we  can  go  out  with  the  wind  and  sea  through 
the  north  channel." 

"That's  our  best  bet,  unless  it's  a  nor'wester,"  she 
agreed.  "We've  got  to  keep  a  way  out  clear  or 
Mascola  wrill  crowd  us  on  the  rocks." 

The  captains  of  the  fishing-boats  reported  their 
craft  to  be  better  than  half  laden  when  the  Richard 
arrived  alongside.  The  fish  were  still  running  strong. 
In  another  hour,  without  interference,  they  might  be 
loaded.  At  Gregory's  direction  the  albacore  fishermen 
began  cruising  toward  the  north  channel. 

The  next  thing  to  do  was  to  marshal  the  fleet  to 
withstand  Mascola's  attack  from  the  rear.  Owing  to 


252  EL  DIABLO 

the  extreme  wideness  of  the  waterway,  the  Italian's 
boats  would  now  have  a  better  chance.  The  V  must 
be  broadened  by  the  boats  hitherto  held  in  reserve. 
They  must  be  brought  up  at  once.  The  rising  wind 
and  the  roughening  sea,  added  to  Gregory's  inexpe 
rience  in  handling  the  speed-boat,  rendered  the  mobili 
zation  of  the  cannery  fleet  not  only  slow,  but 
extremely  hazardous  as  well. 

Before  his  left  end  defense  was  complete,  Mascola 
was  bearing  down  upon  his  center. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

< 

A  FIGHTING  CHANCE 

TV  yTASCOLA'S  boats  advanced  warily,  spreading  out 
and  covering  off  the  defending  fleet  as  they 
came.  It  would  be  a  boat  to  boat,  man  to  man  fight  in 
the  darkness. 

Head-on,  the  opposing  fleets  collided  with  a  crash 
which  twisted  their  keels  and  racked  their  timbers. 
Lights  merged  together  and  became  stationary  as  hull 
locked  with  hull  in  a  grinding  embrace.  The  alien 
crews  swarmed  to  the  decks  and  leaped  across  the  rail 
upon  the  American  sailors  who  surged  forward  to 
meet  them.  Fists  flashed  in  the  darkness.  Men  met 
hand  to  hand.  The  night  was  filled  with  wild  cries, 
the  trampling  of  heavy  feet,  the  thud  of  contact  of 
wood  meeting  wood  and  flesh  meeting  flesh.  From 
the  center  of  the  struggling  mass  of  men  and  boats 
came  a  sudden  flare  of  light  which  dispelled  the  dark 
shadows  cast  athwart  the  vessels  and  brought  into 
bold  relief  the  struggling  figures  of  the  men  who 
battled  on  the  decks. 

"Fire !" 

The  cry  was  taken  up  by  ever}7  throat  and  echoed 
down  the  line.  It  came  to  Kenneth  Gregory  on  the 

253 


254  EL  DIABLO 

extreme  end  of  the  left  wing  where  he  had  been  direct 
ing  the  defense  of  his  weakened  quarter,  by  a  counter- 
flanking  movement.  A  boat  afire !  And  right  in  the 
center  of  his  fleet !  When  the  tank  exploded  hundreds 
of  gallons  of  burning  distillate  would  flood  the  waters. 
But  he  dared  not  think  that  far.  Whirling  the  Richard 
about,  and  circling  behind  his  line  of  boats  he  dashed 
away  to  face  the  new  peril. 

The  crew  of  the  Florence  abandoned  the  attack  at 
the  first  cry  and  surged  to  the  hold  to  fight  the  con 
flagration.  A  gasoline  stove,  carelessly  left  burning 
by  one  of  that  vessel's  drunken  crew,  had  been  over 
turned  by  the  shock  of  collision,  and  had  fired  the 
bilge.  Fanned  by  the  rising  winds,  the  flames  were 
licking  at  the  oil-soaked  timbers  and  spreading  rap 
idly  toward  the  tanks  in  the  bow. 

The  alien  crew  of  the  Florence  fled  in  a  panic  of 
fear.  Leaping  to  the  rail  they  flung  themselves  to  the 
deck  of  a  neighboring  craft  which  was  already  backing 
away  from  the  ill-fated  vessel.  From  all  sides,  friend 
and  foe  alike  drew  away  from  the  blazing  fishing 
craft.  For  the  time  being  the  sound  of  conflict  gave 
place  to  the  rasp  of  reverse  levers,  hoarse  cries  of 
warning  and  the  labored  chug  of  heavy-duty  motors 
going  full  astern.  In  the  ever-widening  cleared  space 
about  the  ill-fated  derelict  the  lurid  waters  were 
churned  into  a  roseate  foam  by  the  frenzied  lashing  of 
the  heavy  propellers  of  the  fishing  craft  as  their 
masters  sought  to  clear  the  dangerous  area. 

As  the  Richard  sped  on  in  the  direction  of  the  ever- 


A  FIGHTING  CHANCE  255 

brightening  glare,  Gregory's  mind  kept  pace  with  the 
rapid  pulsing  of  the  high-speed  motor.  He  must  tow 
the  blazing  vessel  clear  of  the  fleet  before  the  tanks 
exploded. 

Dodging  among  the  retreating  fishermen  he  grazed 
the  Curlew's  hull  and  plunged  into  the  open  space. 
Warning  cries  sounded  above  the  roar  of  the  flames 
but  he  did  not  hear  them.  His  plan,  formed  on  the 
instant,  must  be  put  into  execution  at  once.  If  it 
failed,  the  speed  of  the  Richard  would  carry  Dickie  to 
a  place  of  safety.  It  was  a  fighting  chance.  That 
was  all. 

Swinging  the  Richard  about,  he  drove  straight  for 
the  Florence. 

"Take  the  wheel,  and  stand  by,"  he  cried  to  the 
girl.  "If  the  tank  goes,  run." 

He  leaped  from  his  seat  as  the  Richard  breasted 
the  blazing  hull  and  Dickie  found  herself  gripping  the 
big  steering  wheel  before  she  could  utter  a  protest. 
Gregory  was  already  in  the  stern  of  the  Richard. 
Grasping  the  stern-anchor  chain  of  the  speed-launch, 
he  caught  the  wire-stays  of  the  Florence  and  pulled' 
himself  aboard,  dragging  the  chain  after  him.  For  an 
instant  he  clung  to  the  rail,  shielding  his  face  with  his 
arms.  Then  he  scrambled  on  deck. 

Holding  the  Richard's  stern  close  to  the  Florence's 
bow,  Dickie  Lang  saw  Gregory  running  across  the 
deck.  Saw  his  reeling  figure  silhouetted  against  the 
white  glare  of  the  blazing  cabin-house.  Heard  the 
rattle  of  the  heavy  anchor  chain  of  the  alien  fishing- 


256  EL  DIABLO 

boat.  Keeping  the  Richard  in  place  with  an  effort 
against  the  wind  and  chop,  she  waited.  He  expected 
her  to  stand  by. 

His  hair  singed  by  the  heat,  with  blistering  face  and 
burning  lungs,  Gregory  dropped  by  the  snubbing-post 
in  the  bow  and  tugged  at  the  heavy  chain  and  knotted 
it  about  the  block.  Then  he  made  the  free  end  fast  to 
the  chain  of  the  Richard.  Running  to  the  rail  he 
threw  his  body  over  and  hung  by  his  hands,  searching 
the  air  with  his  feet.  Then  he  felt  the  deck  of  the 
Richard  beneath  him. 

Dickie  Lang  had  stood  by. 

The  next  instant  he  was  again  at  the  wheel  and 
the  Richard  lunged  forward. 

"Steady,"  cautioned  the  girl.  "Don't  take  the 
slack  so  fast.  Hard  a  port.  Now  kick  your  stern 
over.  That's  the  stuff.  Pay  out.  Now  you've  got 
her." 

For  an  instant  the  Richard  quivered  with  anger  to 
find  herself  in  leash  by  the  fiery  incubus  at  her  stern. 
Then  she  settled  doggedly  to  work  and  the  two  vessels 
began  to  gather  way.  To  the  right  and  left  the  fish 
ing-boats  scattered  before  them.  The  tanks  of  the 
blazing  tow  might  explode  at  any  minute.  It  was  best 
to  be  in  the  clear.  In  the  common  fear  of  the  new 
danger  the  contending  factions  drew  apart,  friend  and 
foe  uniting  in  the  universal  effort  to  gain  a  place  of 
safety.  The  wind  caught  the  blaze  and  fanned  it 
upward  in  a  solid  sheet  of  flame  which  blistered  the 
varnish  of  the  Richard's  stern-deck. 


A  FIGHTING  CHANCE  257 

"Get  down,"  Gregory  shouted  above  the  roar  of 
the  speed-boat's  exhaust. 

Dickie  started  to  protest  when  she  felt  herself 
jerked  roughly  from  the  seat. 

"There's  nothing  you  can  do  now.  Lie  still.  Keep 
your  head  covered."  The  tone  was  gruff,  the  words 
commanding,  spoken  by  a  man.  A  man  who  thought 
of  the  safety  of  others  and  placed  it  before  his  own. 
A  man  who  was  not  afraid  to  take  chances.  Dickie's 
heart  glowed  with  pride  as  she  huddled  in  the 
Richard's  cockpit.  It  was  worth  while  to  know  a  man 
like  that. 

Mascola  watched  the  progress  of  the  burning 
Florence  from  the  deck  of  the  Lura.  His  blood-shot 
eyes  gleamed  red  in  the  glow  from  the  burning  vessel 
and  the  lust  of  destruction  surged  into  his  heart.  He 
was  losing  one  of  his  best  boats.  Somebody  must 
pay. 

In  the  light  of  the  fire  he  saw  the  vessels  of  the 
defense  scattered.  Now  would  be  his  chance  to  crowd 
through  to  the  fishing  fleet.  With  the  wind  and  sea 
at  his  back  he  would  pile  them  up  on  the  rocks.  Jump 
ing  to  the  Fuor  d'ltalia  he  sped  away  to  direct  the 
attack  upon  the  heavily  laden  fishing-boats. 

Clear  the  fishing  fleet  and  shunt  the  Florence  to 
the  rocks  with  the  wind  and  current.  For  the  space 
of  a  few  seconds  it  was  Gregory's  only  thought.  The 
rising  wind  at  his  back  was  hot  with  the  fevered 
breath  of  the  burning  tow.  What  did  it  matter  if  the 
heat  was  scorching  his  neck?  Only  a  few  boats 


258  EL  DIABLO 

remained  ahead.  Then  he  would  be  in  the  clear.  If 
the  tanks  of  the  Florence  exploded  he  must  crawl  to 
the  stern  and  cut  the  tow-line.  The  crested  waves 
began  to  slap  angrily  at  the  speed-boat's  hull.  Then 
the  Richard's  motor  began  to  miss. 

"She's  all  right.     Keep  down.     I  can " 

A  muffled  roar  interrupted  his  words.  The  hull 
of  the  Florence  bulged.  A  jet  of  flame  mounted 
upward  from  the  deck.  The  engine-house  tottered 
and  collapsed  in  a  shower  of  glowing  sparks  which 
filled  the  air  and  rained  down  into  the  Richard's 
cockpit.  A  stream  of  burning  oil  surged  up  from  the 
hull  of  the  derelict  and  tumbled  into  the  sea,  blazing 
fiercely  on  the  crest  of  the  waves. 

"Take  the  boat." 

Before  the  girl  could  gain  the  wheel  Gregory  was 
fighting  his  way  to  the  stern.  As  Dickie's  fingers 
closed  on  the  steering-wheel  he  was  slashing  at  the 
rope  spliced  to  the  chain.  With  blistered  hands  and 
burning  lungs  he  hacked  at  the  tough  strands  of  hemp 
with  his  pocket-knife.  The  threads  of  the  line  snapped 
and  crinkled  from  the  heat.  The  water  about  the 
speed-craft's  stern  was  on  fire.  Tottering  drunkenly, 
he  bent  low  and  held  his  breath.  The  rope  was  more 
than  half  severed.  The  threads  were  already  parting 
from  the  strain.  Then  the  knife  slipped  from  his 
blistered  fingers  and  fell  into  the  water. 

Mascola  witnessed  the  explosion  of  the  Florence's 
first  oil  tank  with  a  grim  smile.  The  vessel  was 
already  clear  of  the  fleet.  She  could  do  no  damage 


A  FIGHTING  CHANCE  259 

now  save  to  the  Richard  and  her  crew.  With  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  fire,  Mascola  prayed  to  his  saints  that  the 
second  and  larger  tank  might  explode  before  Gregory 
could  sever  the  tow-line.  Fascinated  by  the  sight,  he 
moved  farther  to  windward  and  watched. 

Kenneth  Gregory's  bleeding  fingers  tore  at  the 
straining  fiber  of  the  quivering  line  which  bound  the 
Richard  to  destruction.  One  by  one  the  threads 
snapped  and  curled  in  the  heat  radiated  from  the  burn 
ing  vessel. 

Dickie  Lang  huddled  in  the  driver's  seat  and 
jerked  the  hull  of  the  speed-craft  frantically  against  the 
strain  of  the  tow-line.  For  an  instant  death  held  them 
by  a  single  strand.  Then  the  line  parted  and  the 
Richard  leaped  to  safety.  The  cool  rush  of  air 
revived  Gregory's  senses  and  he  found  himself  leaning 
weakly  against  the  coaming  of  the  speed-boat.  Then 
he  heard  the  girl  calling  from  the  wheel. 

"Mascola's  broken   through." 

He  gulped  in  the  moist  sea  air  and  groped  his  way 
forward.  Far  astern  the  wreck  burned  fiercely,  bring 
ing  into  bold  relief  the  frowning  peaks  which  fringed 
the  shore-line  of  El  Diablo.  As  he  caught  at  the  rail 
for  support  he  saw  the  flames  leap  skyward,  blackened 
by  smoke  and  bits  of  timber.  The  waves  burned 
brightly  about  the  settling  hull.  Then  came  the  sound 
of  the  explosion  of  the  Florence's  second  tank. 

"Mascola's  broken  through.  Can't  you  hear  me? 
Are  you  hurt?" 


260  EL  DIABLO 

Gregory  staggered  to  the  seat  and  dropped  beside 
the  girl. 

"I'll  be  all  right  in  a  minute,"  he  said.  "Keep 
going.  I  can't  see  very  well  yet.  You  say  he  got 
through  ?" 

"Yes.  He's  trying  to  crowd  the  fishing  fleet  to 
the  rocks.  Look!" 

In  the  light  that  the  burning  vessel  astern  cast  upon 
the  waters  ahead,  Gregory  saw  a  confused  jumble  of 
boats  crowded  close  against  the  saw-toothed  reef. 

"Damn  him!"  he  grated.  "We'll  beat  him  yet. 
Slow  down.  Give  me  the  wheel." 

Dickie  relinquished  the  steering-wheel  with  reluc 
tance. 

"We  ought  to  be  putting  to  sea,"  she  observed  as  a 
sudden  gust  of  wrind  and  rain  assailed  them.  "This  is 
a  bad  place  to  be  caught  napping." 

Gregory's  eyes  glowed  with  the  lust  of  battle. 
"No,"  he  gritted.  "We're  going  to  stay  and  fight. 
Mascola's  not  going  to  win  on  a  fluke  if  it  costs  me 
every  boat  I  have." 

In  a  frenzy  of  activity  he  threw  the  Richard  wide 
open  and  sped  away  to  gather  his  scattered  boats  for 
a  flank  attack  upon  the  alien  fleet. 

Mascola  was  in  high  good  humor.  His  boats  were 
crowding  the  fishermen  backward  in  the  direction  of 
the  reef.  Forced  to  the  rocks  they  would  have  no 
chance  in  the  face  of  the  approaching  storm.  What 
was  the  loss  of  the  Florence  in  comparison  to  the 
destruction  of  a  dozen  or  more  fully  equipped  fishing 


A  FIGHTING  CHANCE  261 

vessels,  laden  to  the  water-line  with  their  valuable 
cargoes  ? 

Repairing  to  the  cabin  of  the  Lura,  the  Italian 
refreshed  himself  with  a  drink.  A  shout  from  without 
brought  him  hurrying  to  the  deck.  Bearing  down 
upon  him  at  full  speed,  came  the  cannery  fleet.  His 
vessels  were  broadside.  They  would  strike  him  full 
on  the  beam.  Cut  his  boats  in  two.  Mascola  shrieked 
out  an  order  to  put  about  and  face  the  enemy.  His 
captains  sprang  to  their  respective  wheels  and  battled 
desperately  among  themselves  for  steerage  way. 

Then  came  the  crash. 

Skirting  the  mass  of  snapping  grinding  hulls, 
Gregory  shot  through  with  the  Richard  and  came 
among  the  fishing-boats.  Some  were  already  grazing 
the  reef.  A  line  from  the  speed-craft  pulled  them 
again  to  safety  and  launched  them  around  Mascola's 
rear.  Fighting  their  way  through  the  press  of  the 
alien  craft  they  circled  and  renewed  the  attack  from 
the  opposite  flank.  Mascola's  fleet  was  caught  broad 
side  between  the  Americans. 

The  din  of  the  battle  mingled  with  the  roar  of  the 
wind.  Again  men  met  over  the  rail.  Knives  flashed 
in  the  sullen  glare  from  the  burning  Florence.  Pistol 
shots  echoed  above  the  tumult  and  the  air  was  filled 
with  flying  splinters. 

Slowly  and  inexorably  Mascola's  fleet  was  ground 
back.  An  alien  craft,  reaching  the  clear  space  to  the 
rear  of  the  battle  line,  turned  hastily  about  and  fled 


262  EL  DIABLO 

down  the  narrow  channel  leading  to  the  sea.  Another 
followed.  Still  another. 

Mascola  strove  vainly  with  shouts  and  curses  to 
stem  the  tide  of  his  retreating  vessels,  but  the  boats 
brushed  by  him  and  continued  on  their  way.  Soon 
the  exodus  became  a  rout  with  hull  scraping  hull  in  the 
effort  of  the  alien  boats  to  gain  sea-way  in  the  channel. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  last  of  Mascola's  fleet,  leaking 
badly  and  settling  low  in  the  water,  lumbered  by  writh 
rapidly  pulsing  motor  in  the  direction  of  Northwest 
Harbor. 

"We  beat  him  at  his  own  game."  Kenneth  Greg 
ory  repeated  the  words  again  and  again.  Blood  flowed 
from  a  jagged  cut  in  his  cheek.  His  face  and  hands 
were  raw  and  blistered,  but  his  eyes  were  shining  with 
the  light  of  victory. 

In  the  shadow  of  the  Pelican  his  arms  closed  about 
Dickie  Lang  and  he  drew  her  to  him.  "We  beat 
him,"  he  cried.  "You,  and  the  boys,  and  I." 

The  girl  struggled  for  a  moment,  then  lay  passive 
in  his  arms.  He  was  delirious  from  the  fire  and  the 
battle.  He  did  not  know  what  he  was  doing.  Freeing 
herself  with  an  effort  from  his  clinging  arms  she 
drew  away. 

"We  must  put  to  sea,"  she  cried.  "Before  the 
storm  breaks." 

Gregory  roused  at  her  words  and  turned  quickly 
away. 

"Yes,"  he  answered.     "You're  right.     I  forgot." 

Within  a  few  minutes  the  cannery  fleet  was  head- 


A  FIGHTING  CHANCE  263 

ing  down  the  main  harbor  channel  in  the  direction  of 
the  open  sea. 

Then  the  storm  broke.  Battling  desperately  into 
the  teeth  of  the  gale,  the  fishing-boats  plunged  head-on 
into  the  curling  waves.  Lashing  the  sea  into  white- 
caps,  the  wind  picked  up  the  water  and  hurled  it  to 
the  decks  in  great  clouds  of  choking,  blinding  spray. 

In  a  last  dying  flare  the  flames  leaped  upward  from 
the  charred  hull  of  the  Florence  as  she  lay  pillowed  on 
the  rocks.  And  in  the  feeble  glow,  only  Hawkins,  who 
was  looking  astern,  saw  the  shadowy  outline  of  a  long 
gray  boat  nosing  her  way  about  the  island. 

The  Gray  Ghost  was  running  before  the  storm. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE   BANKER   AT   THE   HELM 

by  foot  down  the  storm-lashed,  wind-swept 
channel  the  victorious  cannery  fleet  doggedly 
fought  its  way  from  the  Diablo  coast  and  headed  to 
sea. 

"We've  got  to  lay  in  at  San  Anselmo,"  Dickie 
Lang  shouted  to  Gregory  as  she  guided  the  Richard 
skilfully  through  the  buffeting  waves.  "Some  of  the 
boats  are  pretty  badly  stove  up.  They're  riding  too 
low  to  try  to  make  the  mainland.  We'd  have  to  buck 
the  storm  all  the  way  over.  Best  run  before  it  as  long 
as  we  can.  Then  we  can  gain  the  lea  of  the  other 
island  and  head  in  at  Cavalan  and  leave  some  of  the 
boats  there.  May  have  to  run  a  few  of  them  on  the 
beach.  We  ought  to  make  the  little  harbor  on  the 
south  shore  of  San  Anselmo  in  a  couple  of  hours." 

Gregory  agreed  with  some  reluctance.  When  it 
came  to  seamanship  he  was  perfectly  willing  to  leave 
the  management  of  his  craft  to  Dickie  Lang.  The 
girl  was  familiar  with  the  coast  of  the  two  islands  and 
had  fully  demonstrated  her  ability  to  handle  the 
Richard  in  a  storm.  Still  the  idea  of  running  from 
Diablo  rankled  in  his  heart.  It  looked  like  quitting. 

264 


THE  BANKER  AT  THE  HELM    265 

The  girl's  next  words,  however,  made  him  feel  a 
little  better. 

"There  would  be  no  use  lying  in  at  Northwest 
Harbor  at  Diablo/'  she  was  saying.  "The  anchorage 
is  too  small  and  Mascola's  boats  will  overcrowd  it.  If 
you  tried  to  beach  anything  there,  you'd  wreck  it. 
At  Cavalan  we  can  check  things  up,  transfer  the  fish 
if  we  have  to  and  get  them  right  out.  We've  beaten 
Mascola,  hands  down,  so  why  should  we  care?" 

It  was  well  toward  morning  before  the  last  of  the 
cannery  fleet  staggered  into  the  little  harbor  of 
Cavalan.  Then  came  the  first  opportunity  to  reckon 
the  cost  of  Mascola's  defeat  at  Diablo. 

Gregory's  first  thought  was  for  the  personnel  of 
his  fleet.  In  the  fight  with  the  alien  fishermen  several 
of  his  men  had  been  injured,  but  as  near  as  could  be 
ascertained,  none  fatally.  A  number  of  men  had  been 
slashed  by  knives,  but  the  injuries  for  the  most  part 
were  only  flesh  wounds.  There  were  many  aching 
heads  and  bruised  bodies.  Two  sailors  and  a  fisherman 
had  been  grazed  by  bullets.  One  man's  arm  had  been 
broken. 

To  a  man  the  various  crews  made  light  of  their 
injuries  and  proudly  maintained  that  they  had  left 
their  mark  on  many  a  dark-skinned  member  of 
Mascola's  aliens. 

Bronson  had  partly  recovered  and  was  anxiously 
inquiring  concerning  the  behavior  of  the  speed-craft 
in  the  storm. 

While  Gregory  directed  the  transferring  of  the 


266  EL  DIABLO 

injured  men  to  the  better  equipped  launches,  Dickie 
checked  up  the  material  damage  inflicted  upon  the 
tonnage. 

On  the  Curlew  Gregory  encountered  Hawkins. 
The  newspaper  man  was  jubilant.  The  victory  over 
the  aliens  was  just  what  he  needed.  He  had  antici 
pated  the  outcome  and  had  already  sent  out  a  full 
account  of  the  struggle  with  the  aliens  over  the  radio. 
The  people  of  Port  Angeles  would  be  reading  it  in  a 
couple  of  hours. 

As  Hawkins  assisted  Gregory  in  caring  for  the 
needs  of  the  men,  the  reporter  hinted  that  he  was  on 
the  trail  of  a  bigger  story  which  would  make  all  his 
former  journalistic  efforts  pale  into  insignificance. 
But  when  questioned  concerning  the  specific  nature  of 
his  scoop,  Hawkins  became  extremely  reticent. 

Dickie  Lang's  report  upon  the  condition  of  the 
fishing-boats  added  materially  to  the  cost  of  the  vic 
tory.  Four  of  the  craft  had  been  jammed  in  the  melee 
and  were  leaking  badly.  How  they  ever  made  port  at 
all  was  a  thing  she  could  not  understand.  Three  of  the 
other  vessels  had  sustained  bent  shafts  and  broken  pro 
peller  blades.  All  the  fleet  were  more  or  less  battle- 
scarred  but  their  defects  could  be  remedied  in  the 
water.  She  had  set  the  men  to  work  already.  There 
was  a  machine  shop  at  Anacapa  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  island  and  a  marine  railway  large  enough  to  take 
on  the  disabled  craft.  When  the  blow  subsided,  they 
could  put  in  there  for  temporary  repairs. 

The   girl's   eyes   glowed   with   happiness   as   she 


THE  BANKER  AT  THE  HELM    267 

totaled  the  catch  of  the  fishermen.  Every  boat  was 
laden  almost  to  its  full  capacity.  With  a  storm  coming 
on  and  in  the  face  of  a  probable  shortage  of  fish,  the 
success  of  the  night's  work  would  reach  a  substantial 
figure. 

"It's  worth  more  than  you  know,"  put  in  Hawkins. 
"Wait  until  my  yarn  gets  into  print  and  I'll  show  you." 
He  smiled  broadly  and  put  out  his  hand.  "Then  I 
want  my  rake-off,  Cap.  Gregory,"  he  concluded. 

"I  won't  forget  you,  Bill,"  Gregory  was  quick  to 
answer.  "Nor  any  one  else.  I  knew  the  boys  would 
stand  by  to  a  finish.  They  sure  came  across  to-night." 

He  turned  quickly  to  Dickie  Lang.  "When  can 
we  start  out  with  the  fish  ?"  he  asked. 

"Figuring  to  go  at  daybreak,"  the  girl  answered. 
"Better  send  Jack  a  message  right  away  so  he  can  be 
ready  for  them.  They'll  have  to  buck  the  blow  so  it 
will  be  afternoon  by  the  time  they  get  over." 

She  looked  out  across  the  faintly  graying  waters 
where  brightening  lights  began  to  appear  from  the 
shadowy  hulls  of  the  fishing-boats.  Then  she  inhaled 
the  air  hungrily. 

"Look,"  she  exclaimed.  "The  boys  are  getting 
breakfast.  Let's  go  over  to  the  Snipe  and  tie  in  with 
them.  They've  got  a  man  there  from  the  regular 
navy  who  can  surely  cook." 

Gregory  and  Hawkins  welcomed  the  suggestion 
and  a  moment  later  they  were  speeding  away  to  answer 
to  the  first  call  for  breakfast. 

In  the  lea  of  San  Anselmo,  sheltered  from  the  storm 


268  EL  DIABLO 

in  the  land-locked  little  harbor  of  Cavalan,  the  Ameri 
can  fleet  rested  from  its  labors.  The  sailors  gathered 
on  the  decks  and  greeted  the  new  day  over  plates  piled 
high  with  crisp  slices  of  bacon  and  fried  eggs.  The 
night  had  been  long,  fraught  with  danger  and 
fatiguing  toil;  but  work  and  worry  had  endured  only 
for  the  night  and  joy  came  with  the  morning. 

Silvanus  Rock  was  nervous  and  ill-tempered.  Con 
suming  his  third  cup  of  strong  black  coffee,  he  rose 
from  the  breakfast  table  and  walked  to  the  French 
windows  and  glared  out  at  the  curling  waves  as  they 
flung  themselves  upon  the  beach. 

His  devoted  spouse  gazed  after  him  with  a  sigh. 
"Something  is  preying  on  father's  mind,"  she  whis 
pered  to  De  Lancy,  the  only  son  and  heir  to  the  Rock 
fortune.  "He  didn't  sleep  a  wink  last  night." 

De  Lancy  scowled.  "That  doesn't  give  him  any 
license  to  take  it  out  on  me,"  he  growled,  as  he  pushed 
back  his  chair  and  lit  a  cigarette.  "When  I  tried  to 
interest  him  in  that  new  racing  car,  he  landed  on  me  all 
in  a  heap  and " 

His  words  were  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  the 
maid. 

"Some  one  to  see  Mr.  Rock,"  she  announced. 

Rock  whirled  and  hurried  toward  her.  Then  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  roughly  garbed  man  who  was 
standing  by  the  desk  in  his  den.  Peters  had  arrived 
at  last.  The  anxious  lines  deepened  on  Silvanus 
Rock's  forehead  and  he  made  haste  to  join  his  visitor. 


THE  BANKER  AT  THE  HELM    269 

Mrs.  Rock  pursed  her  lips  as  she  noticed  the 
stranger.  "I  can  not  understand  why  your  father  per 
sists  in  having  such  disreputable-looking  men  visit  him 
in  his  home,"  she  confided  to  her  son. 

De  Lancy  sluffed  the  cigarette  ashes  into  his  coffee 
cup,  before  replying.  "Well,  whoever  the  'low-brow' 
is,  here's  hoping  he'll  put  the  old  man  in  a  better 
humor." 

In  his  wish  De  Lancy  was  not  disappointed.  For 
a  short  time  the  visitor  remained  closeted  with  Rock 
in  the  capitalist's  den.  Then  Rock  escorted  his  guest 
to  the  door  and  De  Lancy  noticed  that  the  old  man  had 
opened  up  some  of  his  best  cigars.  It  was  a  good  sign, 

Silvanus  Rock  entered  the  sun-room,  all  smiles. 

"I  believe  I'll  try  some  of  those  waffles,  mother,  if 
they  are  still  handy,"  he  exclaimed.  "My  headache's 
passed  off  and  I'm  feeling  quite  myself  again."  He 
beamed  on  his  son.  "And  now,  De  Lancy,  you  were 
telling  me  about  that  new  car.  It  seems  to  me  like  a 
pretty  stiff  price  but  I  guess  you  might  as  well  go 
ahead  and  order  it" 

When  the  bank  president  reached  his  office  some 
time  later  after  a  visit  to  the  Golden  Rule  Fish  Can 
nery,  he  greeted  his  employees  with  effusive  good- 
humor.  Leaving  orders  that  he  was  not  to  be  dis 
turbed  by  any  one  except  Mr.  Peters,  he  passed  into 
his  private  office,  dropped  heavily  into  a  chair  and 
began  to  figure.  His  pudgy  fingers  trembled  about 
the  pen  as  he  scratched  on  the  pad  before  him.  Then 
he  tore  the  paper  containing  his  calculations  into  little 


270  EL  DIABLO 

bits,  tossed  them  into  the  waste-basket  and  smiled 
benignly.  His  latest  business  venture  had  succeeded 
far  beyond  his  fondest  expectations. 

A  tap  came  on  his  door  and  Mr.  Peters  again  made 
his  appearance. 

Rock  surveyed  him  anxiously.  "No  mistake  I 
hope,  Peters,  in  the  good  news,"  he  quavered. 
"Everything's  all  right  I  trust." 

Peters  nodded  and  drew  up  a  chair  close  to  Rock's 
side.  "This  one's  about  the  fishing-boats,"  he  said  in 
a  low  voice.  "They  got  into  a  scrap  with  the  American 
boats  off  Northwest  Harbor.  Bandrist  says  that 
Gregory's  fleet  won  out.  Mascola's  lay  in  at  the 
harbor.  The  Florence  burned  up  and  a  lot  of  his 
other  boats  are  pretty  well  shot.  He  couldn't  stop  the 
other  fellows  at  all  and  they  loaded  up." 

Rock  frowned  at  the  news. 

"Well,  well,"  he  ejaculated.  "That  is  bad. 
Though  not  of  course  as  bad  as  it  might  be.  No 
answer  to  that  one,  Peters." 

A  few  moments  later  when  the  financier  was  again 
alone  in  his  office,  the  cashier  entered.  "The  credit 
man  from  the  Canners'  Supply  Company  is  here,"  he 
announced.  "He's  asking  for  information  about  the 
Legonia  Fish  Cannery.  Thought  I'd  better  refer  him 
to  you." 

Rock's  thick  lips  closed  grimly.  "Show  him  in," 
he  ordered,  and  bit  savagely  at  his  cigar. 

Mr.  Booker  made  his  appearance  at  once.  "We 
have  a  little  account  with  the  Legonia  Fish  Cannery," 


THE  BANKER  AT  THE  HELM    271 

he  began.  "As  it  is  some  time  past  due  we  were  begin 
ning  to  get  a  little  anxious.  A  word  from  you  will 
put  us  straight." 

"What's  the  amount  of  your  claim?" 

"Twelve  hundred  and  thirty-five  dollars." 

The  hopeful  expression  which  had  leaped  to  Rock's 
face  gave  place  to  one  of  gloom.  Then  he  asked : 

"What  is  the  nature  of  your  claim?" 

"Machinery  and  the  labor  of  installing,"  supplied 
Booker. 

A  gleam  of  hope  entered  Rock's  beady  eyes. 
"Between  you  and  me,  Mr.  Booker,"  he  said.  "The 
Legonia  Fish  Cannery  is  pretty  much  involved  at  the. 
present  time.  Their  organization  is  one  which  might 
cause  you  some  difficulty  in  securing  the  amount  of 
your  claim.  If  you  care  to  assign  it  to  me  for  collec 
tion  I  think  I  can  handle  the  matter  satisfactorily." 

Booker  did  not  notice  the  suppressed  eagerness  of 
the  bank  president's  tone.  He  was  new  at  the  job, 
replacing  the  regular  credit  man  who  was  away  on  his 
vacation.  Perhaps  it  would  be  well  to  accept  Mr. 
Rock's  offer. 

"What  fee  would  you  charge  for  your  services?"' 
he  inquired  warily. 

Rock  spread  out  his  fat  hands  with  a  depreciatory 
gesture. 

"Just  between  friends,  Mr.  Booker,"  he  said 
warmly.  "Your  firm  is  too  well-known  by  me  to  make 
even  a  nominal  charge  for  so  trifling  a  favor.  What 
ever  I  am  able  to  do  for  you  in  this  regard,  is  yours  for 


272  EL  DIABLO 

the  asking."  Seeing  that  the  credit  man  was  wavering, 
Rock  continued :  "I  am  so  sure  that  I  can  adjust  the 
claim  satisfactorily  that  if  you  desire  I  will  give  you 
my  own  personal  check  for  the  amount  right  away. 
Then  you  can  forget  the  entire  matter.  Mr.  Gregory 
is  a  personal  friend  of  mine  and  though,  as  I  say,  his 
affairs  are  somewhat  involved,  I  know  that  he  will 
attend  to  the  matter  at  once  if  approached  in  the  right 
way." 

Booker  hesitated. 

"I'd  better  call  on  Mr.  Gregory  first,"  he  said. 

"That  will  be  a  hard  matter,"  Rock  interrupted. 
"Unless  you  care  to  go  to  the  expense  of  making  a  trip 
to  Diablo  Island.  Mr.  Gregory  left  yesterday  for  a 
protracted  stay  in  the  deep-sea  fishing  grounds." 

Booker  considered.  His  firm  was  very  desirous 
of  having  him  return  with  the  cash  which  was  sore 
needed  at  the  present  time.  Collecting  the  claim 
would  be  quite  a  feather  in  his  cap.  Rock's  statements 
concerning  the  Fish  Cannery,  he  noticed,  were  some 
what  contradictory.  But  that  was  up  to  Rock.  An 
account  like  this,  the  chances  were,  would  not  be  worth 
much  anyway.  He  could  explain  the  whole  matter  to 
Dunham  when  he  got  back. 

"All  right,  Mr.  Rock,"  he  said  at  length.  "If  you 
want  to  buy  the  claim  outright,  you  can  have  it.  I 
won't  assign." 

Rock  reached  for  his  check-book.  A  few  moments 
later  saw  the  deal  closed.  When  Booker  had  left, 


THE  BANKER  AT  THE  HELM    273 

Rock  turned  to  the  telephone.     When  he  was  in  com 
munication  with  the  local  judge,  he  said: 

"I'd  like  to  see  you  as  soon  as  possible,  Tom. — 
Yes,  it's  important. — All  right  I'll  be  right  down." 

Somewhat  in  advance  of  Silvanus  Rock's  breakfast 
hour,  Mr.  Dupont  entered  the  White  Front  Restaur 
ant  at  Port  Angeles  and  made  his  way  toward  his  ac 
customed  table  in  the  sunlit  alcove.  His  favorite 
waitress  pulled  out  his  chair  and  handed  him  his  morn 
ing  paper  with  a  smile. 

"I  have  a  special  for  you  this  morning,"  she 
announced,  "which  will  make  your  mouth  water." 

Mr.  Dupont  smacked  his  lips  with  boyish  enthu 
siasm.  "What  is  it?"  he  inquired. 

"Corn-fed  mackerel  from  the  new  Service  Market 
which  opened  yesterday." 

Mr.  Dupont  raised  his  eyebrows  inquiringly,  and 
the  girl  explained : 

"A  lot  of  service  men  have  started  a  fish  stall  in  a 
corner  of  the  old  California  Market  around  the  block 
from  here.  They  just  put  in  a  few  yesterday  but  from 
the  way  they  sold  out,  Fd  say  they'd  need  the  whole 
building  before  long.  Our  manager  got  around  just  in 
time  to  pick  up  the  last  of  yesterday's  catch.  I  saved 
one  of  them  for  you." 

While  the  girl  attended  to  his  order,  the  resident 
manager  of  Wrinfield  &  Camby  turned  his  attention 
to  his  paper.  When  the  waitress  returned  with  the 


274  EL  DIABLO 

crisply  browned  fish,  she  was  obliged  to  speak  twice 
before  she  was  able  to  gain  Mr.  Dupont's  attention. 

Hovering  about  his  chair,  she  watched  her  patron 
nibble  at  the  carefully-prepared  delicacy  with  his  eyes 
fixed  intently  upon  his  newspaper.  The  dimples  dis 
appeared  quickly  from  the  girl's  face  as  she  noted  that 
the  mackerel  were  growing  cold.  Then  she  turned 
trom  the  table  with  a  sigh.  Men  did  not  care  what 
they  ate  as  long  as  they  had  their  paper. 

Mr.  Dupont  finished  his  perusal  of  the  news  and 
shoved  back  his  chair,  leaving  the  special  scarcely 
tasted. 

'That  was  fine,"  he  ejaculated.  "Wish  I  had  time 
to  finish  it.  But  I  have  a  number  of  things  to  'tend  to 
before  going  to  the  office.  By  the  way,  where  did  you 
say  that  new  market  was  located?" 

He  rose  as  he  spoke  and  as  the  waitress  again  gave 
him  the  location  of  the  building  he  sought,  he  pressed 
a  substantial  tip  into  her  hand  and  hurried  to  the 
street.  At  the  entrance  to  the  California  Market,  he 
mingled  with  the  throng  and  elbowed  his  way  through 
the  crowd  which  packed  a  corner  of  the  big  building. 
Then  he  adjusted  his  nose-glasses  and  peered  over 
their  heads. 

Behind  a  rudely  constructed  counter  of  rough 
boards  three  smiling  young  men  were  endeavoring  to 
satisfy  the  demands  made  upon  them  for  the  rapidly 
disappearing  contents  of  a  number  of  fish-boxes  behind 
the  counter.  All  about  them  were  hastily  scrawled 
signs  which  the  public  read  with  interest. 


THE  BANKER  AT  THE  HELM         275 

WE  HAVE  DECLARED  WAR  ON  THE  HIGH 
COST  OF  LIVING.— FRESH  FISH  AT  FIFTY 
PER  CENT.  OFF.— WE  ARE  DEALING  DIRECT 
WITH  THE  PEOPLE.— SHOOT  SQUARE 
WITH  US  AND  WE  WILL  SHOOT  SQUARE 
WITH  YOU. 

While  Mr.  Dupont  read,  another  sign  made  its 
appearance. 

"SOLD  OUT.     COME  AGAIN." 

Winfield  £  Camby's  office  force  were  surprised 
to  find  the  manager  on  the  job  when  they  reached 
the  salesrooms. 

"Send  me  Mr.  Black." 

Mr.  Dupont's  orders  were  crisp  and  the  publicity 
man  hurried  to  obey  his  bidding. 

"Bring  me  those  clippings  on  that  Legonia  Fish 
Cannery  stuff,  Black.  Also  the  ads  in  to-day's  papers. 
Have  you  read  that  story  of  the  mix-up  between  the 
Americans  and  the  alien  fishermen  at  Diablo  Island?" 

Black  admitted  he  had  not. 

"Get  The  Times  and  read  it/'  snapped  the  manager. 
"Come  alive,  Black,  and  as  soon  as  Dalton  comes  in, 
tell  him  I  want  to  see  him  right  away." 

It  was  high  noon  at  Cavalan  when  the  Pelican 
reentered  the  harbor  after  cruising  in  the  open  sea  to 
pick  up  any  words  that  might  come  from  McCoy  over 


276  EL  DIABLO 

the  radio.  Gregory  watched  the  progress  of  the 
Pelican  from  the  deck  of  the  Albatross. 

"Looks  as  if  they'd  picked  up  something  at  last," 
he  observed.  "Hope  it's  from  the  fleet,  saying  they 
arrived  at  the  cannery  all  right." 

"They've  hardly  had  time  to  make  it  yet,"  objected 
Dickie  Lang.  "I  wouldn't  expect  to  hear  from  them 
at  Legonia  for  at  least  two  hours." 

The  wireless  operator  appeared  on  deck  as  the 
Pelican  drew  abreast  of  the  Albatross.  "Message  for 
Mr.  Gregory,"  he  shouted. 

Gregory  took  the  paper  and  glanced  eagerly  at  the 
message.  It  was  from  McCoy  and  it  read : 

Rock  here  with  attachment  papers  to  tie  us  up 
pending  payment  of  claim  bought  by  him  from  Can- 
ners'  Supply  Company.  We  have  until  four  o'clock  to 
answer.  Wire  what  to  do. 

Gregory  glanced  at  his  watch  as  he  handed  the 
message  to  Dickie  Lang.  Jumping  to  the  deck  of  the 
Pelican  he  found  Tom  Howard. 

"Tom,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  to  put  to  sea  at  once. 
Travel  a  straight  course  for  Legonia  and  keep  the 
radio  going  all  the  time.  We'll  be  alongside  in  the 
Richard.  Give  us  the  answer  you  get  over  the  radio 
by  megaphone.  Perhaps  then  it  won't  be  necessary  for 
us  to  go  all  the  way  over.  But  if  it  should  be,  we've 
got  to  get  there  before  four  o'clock." 

Turning  to  the  radio  man,  he  dictated  a  message  to 
Farnsworth  setting  forth  the  situation  and  instructing 


THE  BANKER  AT  THE  HELM    277 

the  attorney  to  take  whatever  steps  were  advisable  to 
stay  the  attachment.  The  message  was  to  be  fonvarded 
to  Farnsworth  from  the  cannery.  It  would  give  the 
lawyer  time  to  act  if  he  got  busy  at  once. 

Returning  to  the  Albatross,  Gregory  went  over  his 
plans  with  Dickie  Lang. 

"I'm  going,  too/'  the  girl  announced.  "You  are 
all  in.  It  wrill  be  no  fun  driving  the  Richard  to-day. 
If  you  do  have  to  go  across,  you  haven't  much  chance 
of  making  it  on  time  in  weather  like  this.  Especially 
if  we  have  to  lag  along  with  the  Pelican." 

"I  know  it,"  Gregory  answered.  "But  I'm  not 
figuring  we'll  have  to  go  very  far.  But  if  we  do  have 
to  go  all  the  way  we've  got  to  be  at  Legonia  before 
four  o'clock.  We've  beaten  Mascola  but  we'll  lose  all 
we've  gained  if  we  don't  beat  Rock." 

Hawkins  sensed  that  something  important  was 
taking  place  and  straightway  determined  to  accompany 
the  party.  A  few  minutes  later  the  Richard  and  the 
'Pelican  rounded  the  tip  of  San  Anselmo  and  headed 
into  the  storm.  Then  Hawkins'  professional  curiosity 
got  the  better  of  him. 

"What's  the  big  idea?"  he  asked. 

Gregory  explained,  concluding  optimistically: 
"I'm  not  worrying  much.  Farnsworth  can  fix  things 
up  all  right.  Then  we'll  go  back  to  Cavalan." 

"If  he  doesn't  you  can  put  up  a  bond  for  double  the 
amount  of  the  claim,"  Hawkins  advised.  "That  will 
stay  the  attachment  until  you  can  raise  the  cash. 


278  EL  DIABLO 

You'd  have  to  get  it  in  person  though — and  before 
four  o'clock." 

He  looked  at  his  watch. 

"You'll  have  to  go  some  to  do  that,"  he  said.  "If 
you  could  cut  lose  from  the  Pelican  it  would  be  a  cinch, 
but  of  course  you've  got  to  wait  until  you  get  an 
answer  to  your  message." 

For  some  time  the  two  boats  fought  their  way 
through  the  rising  waves.  Then  the  fishing-boat 
signaled  the  Richard  to  draw  closer.  Gregory  listened 
intently  for  the  words  of  the  man  with  the  megaphone 
as  he  appeared  on  the  Pelican's  deck.  The  operator's 
message  came  faintly  to  them  above  the  roar  of  the 
wind. 

Mr.  Farnsworth  left  his  office  at  noon  to-day  on 
motor  trip  to  country.  Not  expected  to  return  until 
Monday.  Little  hope  of  reaching  him  to-night  but 
will  keep  trying. 

McCoy. 

Hawkins  swore  softly  at  the  intelligence.  It  was 
one-thirty  already.  Not  much  chance  of  reaching 
Legonia  in  time  to  accomplish  much  to-day. 

"Tell  McCoy  I'll  be  at  the  cannery  before  four 
o'clock." 

Dickie  flashed  a  glance  at  the  clock  on  the 
Richard's  dash  at  Gregory's  words.  Every  minute  was 
going  to  count.  It  was  up  to  the  speed-boat  to  show 
what  she  could  do.  Opening  the  cut-out,  the  girl 
began  to  get  the  speed-craft  under  way.  With  a  roar 


THE  BANKER  AT  THE  HELM    279 

which  drowned  out  the  wind,  the  Richard  mounted 
to  the  white-capped  swells  and  raced  for  the  mainland. 
There  was  only  one  chance  in  a  hundred  of  making  it 
on  time.  She  set  her  lips  grimly  and  gripped  the 
wheel.  If  it  was  only  one  in  a  thousand,  she's  take 
it — for  Kenneth  Gregory. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  VALUE  OF  PUBLICITY 

time  is  it?" 

Gregory  huddled  to  the  floor  of  the  cockpit 
and  drew  out  his  watch.  "Two-thirty,"  he  shouted 
above  the  frenzied  snapping  of  the  open  exhaust. 

Dickie  hurled  the  Richard  into  a  mounting  wall  of 
green  water  which  tottered  above  them.  Then  she 
cried  through  set  lips :  "Just  about  half-way.  We're 
over  the  worst  of  it  though.  The  nearer  we  get  to 
shore  the  better  time  we'll  make.  We're  sure  going 
to  need  it  too." 

Gregory  nodded  absent-mindedly.  His  mind  was 
filled  with  the  problem  of  what  he  was  going*  to  do  if 
he  did  arrive  at  Legonia  on  time.  Dickie  had  made  a 
wonderful  run  thus  far,  had  handled  the  Richard  mas 
terfully  against  wind  and  wave,  had  more  than  done 
her  part.  Soon  her  work  would  be  done.  Then  his 
would  begin.  And  what  was  he  going  to  do? 

The  sum  to  be  raised  would  have  once  seemed 
trifling.  What  would  twelve  hundred  dollars  have 
amounted  to  three  months  ago?  Now,  it  looked  like 
a  million.  There  was  no  chance  of  raising  it  to-day. 
He  must  secure  a  bond. 

280 


THE  VALUE  OF  PUBLICITY          281 

Rock  had  played  his  hand  well.  The  bank  presi 
dent  had  hit  in  some  way  upon  a  plan  of  injuring  him 
while  he  was  away.  And  Rock  could  injure  him.  A 
tie-up  at  such  a  time  would  rob  him  of  all  he  had 
gained  by  beating  Mascola  at  El  Diablo.  The  fishing 
fleet  were  loaded  to  the  gunwales  with  albacore.  The 
fish  must  be  worked  up  at  once.  A  loss  of  even 
twenty-four  hours  would  render  them  worthless. 

Gregory  reflected  bitterly  that  he  had  other  credit 
ors.  Had  Rock  obtained  other  due  and  unpaid 
accounts  ?  Even  if  such  were  not  the  case,  the  shutting 
down  of  his  plant  might  be  the  signal  for  other  whole 
salers  to  launch  a  similar  attack  upon  his  credit.  He 
realized  sharply  that  he  was  accomplishing  nothing. 
Merely  thinking  in  circles.  Hawkins  had  suggested 
putting  up  a  bond.  The  newspaperman  was  doubtless 
familiar  with  the  procedure.  Perhaps  it  could  be 
effected  if  they  arrived  early  enough  to  arrange  the 
matter.  He  turned  to  his  friend  for  enlightenment. 

"How  long  would  it  take  for  me  to  get  a  bond?" 
he  asked. 

Hawkins'  usually  cheery  countenance  clouded,  as 
he  replied : 

"Not  long,  if  you  could  find  a  surety  company 
agent  in  his  office.  But  the  trouble  is  this  is  Saturday. 
I  didn't  think  of  it  until  you  got  that  wire  from  your 
attorney.  It's  a  legal  holiday  for  the  courts  and  it's 
hard  to  find  anybody  around  you  want."  Hawkins* 
frown  grew  blacker  as  he  continued :  "Then  there's 
another  thing.  You've  got  to  have  the  judge  approve 


282  EL  DIABLO 

the  bond,  granting-  you're  lucky  enough  to  get  it.  And 
looking  for  a  judge  on  Saturday  afternoon  is  like  look 
ing  for  the  proverbial  needle." 

Hawkins  placed  a  hand  wearily  over  his  eyes  and 
lapsed  into  silence. 

Jack  McCoy  was  at  his  wit's  end.  The  fishing 
fleet  from  Diablo  had  just  arrived,  loaded  with  alba- 
core.  The  captains  reported  a  rough  trip  all  the  way 
over.  They  had  seen  or  heard  nothing  from  Gregory 
since  leaving  Cavalan.  McCoy  paced  up  and  down  the 
dock  while  he  superintended  the  unloading  of  the  fish. 
What  a  haul  they  had  made !  But  what  good  would  it 
do  them?  The  whole  plant  would  be  tied  up  in  less 
than  an  hour. 

He  jerked  out  his  watch  and  looked  at  it  again. 
It  was  seven  minutes  after  three.  Walking  to  the  bay- 
side,  he  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand  and  gazed 
anxiously  in  the  direction  of  the  inlet.  Granting  that 
Gregory  arrived  within  the  next  half-hour,  what  could 
he  possibly  accomplish  in  so  short  a  time?  All 
McCoy's  efforts  to  confer  with  Rock  had  been  fruit 
less.  The  bank  president  could  not  be  located  and  had 
left  but  one  word. 

He  would  be  at  the  cannery  at  four  o'clock. 

The  low-lying  clouds  which  hung  about  the 
entrance  to  Crescent  Bay  rifted  sullenly  and  exposed 
the  ragged  line  of  rocks  which  made  up  the  jetty. 

"Right  on  the  dot,"  Dickie  Lang  exclaimed.     "I 


THE  VALUE  OF  PUBLICITY          283 

was  afraid  maybe  I  was  too  far  down.    What  time  is  it 
now  ?" 

"Three-thirty,"  Gregory  answered.  "We  ought  to 
dock  in  ten  minutes/' 

"We'll  be  there  in  five  unless  I  run  into  something 
going  down  the  harbor." 

"Stop  at  the  municipal  dock  first,"  Gregory 
instructed  her.  "I'm  going  to  run  ashore  and  try  to 
get  a  bond.  Then  we'll  go  on  to  the  cannery." 

Hawkins  roused  himself  from  his  lethargy  as  they 
sped  down  the  bay. 

"I  can  help  you  some,"  he  announced.  "I  can  go 
on  your  bond.  I  own  at  least  three  times  the  amount 
of  the  claim  in  real  estate  in  this  county.  That  will 
save  us  some  time.  We  can  get  a  blank  form  from  a 
notary  and  have  him  fill  it  out.  Then  all  we've  got  to 
do  is  to  find  the  judge." 

"Doesn't  Rock  have  to  put  up  a  bond,  too?"  Greg 
ory  asked.  "He's  trying  his  best  to  damage  me. 
Haven't  I  any  come-back?" 

"Don't  bank  on  Rock's  bond,"  Hawkins  answered. 
"He  has  to  put  one  up,  but  it's  pretty  liable  to  be 
'straw/  Fellows  like  him  generally  have  a  strangle 
hold  on  a  little  place  like  this  and  they  are  pretty  sure 
of  their  ground  before  they  shoot.  The  chances  are 
Rock's  in  the  clear  with  a  'dummy'  or  else  his  property 
is  all  under  cover.  I'm  going  to  make  it  my  business 
to  look  the  old  fellow  up  and  see  how  he's  fixed.  Men 
like  him  don't  do  anything  without  a  motive.  I'm 
going  to  try  to  find  out  what  Rock  is  up  to." 


284  EL  DIABLO 

At  the  municipal  docks  Gregory  and  Hawkins 
debarked  hastily  and  ran  down  the  main  street  of  the 
town.  Contrary  to  the  newspaperman's  fears  they 
were  successful  in  finding  a  young  notary  in  his  office. 
Stimulated  by  the  promise  of  an  extra  fee,  the  man 
made  out  the  papers  in  record  time. 

"Where  can  we  find  the  local  judge?"  Gregory 
asked  quickly. 

The  notary  shook  his  head. 

"Hard  telling,"  he  answered.  "He  went  out  a 
while  ago  with  Mr.  Rock  and  one  of  the  real  estate 
men  in  this  office  to  look  at  a  piece  of  property. 
Haven't  seen  Joe  back  since  so  I  suppose  they're  still 
out/' 

When  Gregory  arrived  at  the  cannery  it  lacked  ten 
minutes  of  being  four  o'clock.  Hurrying  to  the  office 
the  party  from  the  Richard  encountered  McCoy  talk 
ing  with  a  well-dressed  stranger. 

"Here's  Mr.  Gregory  now,"  exclaimed  the  house- 
manager  running  over  to  meet  his  employer.  "What 
luck?"  he  whispered. 

A  glance  at  Gregory's  face,  however,  was  all 
McCoy  needed  to  answer  his  question.  The  boss  had 
failed  to  stay  the  attachment.  The  plant  would  be  shut 
down  and  all  the  fish  from  Diablo  would  rot  on  the 
docks. 

The  visitor  stepped  forward  with  a  smile  and  intro 
duced  himself.  "I'm  Mr.  Dalton,  of  Winfield  & 
Camby,"  he  said  pleasantly.  "I  kind  of  stole  a  march 
on  you  people  to-day.  Came  down  to  inspect  at  the 


THE  VALUE  OF  PUBLICITY          285 

firm's  request  and  found  you  all  so  busy  that  I  just 
sneaked  into  your  warehouse  and  went  to  work  with 
out  saying  anything  to  anybody/'  He  smiled,  as  he 
added:  "We  kind  of  like  to  do  that.  With  a  new 
firm  especially.  It  prevents  them  'stacking'  on  us." 

"Have  you  finished  your  inspection?" 

Gregory  put  the  question  with  suppressed  eager 
ness. 

Dalton  nodded.  "Yes/'  he  answered.  "I'm  well 
enough  satisfied.  Your  stuff  is  fully  up  to  par.  Per 
haps  a  little  better  than  some  standards.  If  you  are 
willing  to  hold  to  your  schedule  of  prices  which  you 
gave  Mr.  Dupont  I'm  ready  to  tie  up  with  you  right 
now." 

A  gleam  of  hope  flashed  to  Gregory's  eye. 

"Isn't  it  customary  to  make  a  part  payment  when 
the  contract  is  signed?"  he  asked. 

Dalton  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"Ten  dollars  is  enough/'  he  answered. 

Gregory's  eyes  were  fixed  earnestly  on  the  repre 
sentative  from  Winfield  &  Camby. 

"Listen,  Mr.  Dalton/'  he  said.  "I've  got  to  have 
twelve  hundred  and  thirty-five  dollars  by  four  o'clock 
or  I'll  lose  thousands.  I've  got  fifteen  boats  outside 
loaded  to  the  water-line  with  albacore  besides  all  the 
canned  stuff  on  the  floor.  I  own  the  building,  machin 
ery  and  twenty-five  fishing-boats.  There's  not  a  dollar 
against  any  part  of  it.  I  guess  you've  looked  me  up 
already  and  you  know  I'm  telling  the  truth.  If  you 
give  me  an  advance  of  twelve  hundred  and  thirty-five 


286  EL  DIABLO 

dollars  I'll  close  right  now  and  pay  you  any  interest 
you  want.  But  I've  got  to  have  the  money  right  now." 

Dalton  jerked  out  his  watch. 

"Hardly  time/'  he  answered.  "Even  if  Dupont 
would  O.  K.  it,  which  I  doubt." 

Gregory  was  already  at  the  telephone. 

"I'll  get  him  for  you.  Can  you  let  me  have  the 
money  if  he  says  it's  all  right?" 

As  Dalton  nodded  in  affirmation,  Gregory's  eye 
fell  upon  the  open  watch  upon  the  desk.  It  lacked  five 
minutes  of  four  o'clock. 

Mr.  Dupont  was  seated  in  his  private  office  puffing 
contentedly  at  a  long  panatella  when  the  door  opened 
and  the  publicity  man  entered. 

"What's  new,  Black?    Anything?" 

Black  smiled  and  dropped  into  a  chair. 

"Nothing  new,"  he  said.  "It's  getting  to  be  an 
old  stoiy.  Every  evening  paper  in  the  city  copied 
that  fellow  Hawkins'  yarn  in  The  Times  about  the  sea 
fight  at  Diablo  Island.  Why,  that  man  Gregory  has 
enough  free  publicity  to  elect  him  to  Congress.  And 
he's  advertising  on  the  strength  of  it,  like  a  depart 
ment  store.  I  was  around  to  his  service  market  a  few 
minutes  ago  and  people  were  fighting  to  get  within 
shouting  distance  of  the  counter.  I'd  say  he  was  a 
mighty  good  bet  right  now,  Dupont.  That  stuff  has 
the  town  all  lit  up.  If  his  output  is  anywhere  near  up 
to  standard  I'd  say  it  would  be  good  business  to  tie 
him  up  and  beat  the  others  to  it." 


THE  VALUE  OF  PUBLICITY  287 

As  Mr.  Dupont  was  about  to  speak,  the  telephone 
bell  interrupted. 

"Yes,"  he  answered.  "On  the  phone.  Hello,  Dai- 
ton. — What's  that?  — Yes,  I  get  you.  — How's  the 
stuff?  —It  is,  eh?  How's  that?  —I  see.  —What  do 
you  think  ?  — You  would  ?  — All  right,  Dalton.  Sure, 
go  ahead.  Drop  in  at  the  apartments  when  you  get 
back.  I  want  to  have  a  look  at  that  contract." 

Mr.  Dalton  hung  up  the  instrument  and  faced 
about.  "You  win,"  he  exclaimed.  "Caught  the  old 
man  just  right.  He'd  have  given  me  a  month's  vaca 
tion  on  full  pay  if  I'd  have  had  the  nerve  to  have  asked 
for  it."  He  wrote  the  check  hurriedly  as  he  spoke  and 
passed  it  over  to  Gregory  with  the  words  :  "And  now, 
don't  forget  that  you  still  have  the  contract  to  sign." 

Gregory  took  the  check  with  shaking  fingers,  at  a 
loss  for  words  to  express  fittingly  his  appreciation  of 
the  favor. 

A  moment  later  the  door  opened  and  Silvanus 
Rock  entered  with  two  strangers.  The  financier  was 
on  time.  In  another  few  seconds  the  hands  of  the 
watch  would  be  pointing  to  four  o'clock.  Rock's 
beady  eyes  opened  wider  as  he  took  in  the  occupants 
of  the  room. 

"I  regret  that  circumstances  have  forced  upon  me 
a  very  unpleasant  duty,"  he  began,  but  Gregory  cut 
him  short. 

"They  haven't,"  he  said.  "You  guessed  wrong 
this  time,  Mr.  Rock.  You've  come  for  your  money. 
Here  it  is." 


?88  EL  DIABLO 

Endorsing  the  check,  he  passed  it  over. 

Silvanus  Rock's  fat  fingers  closed  about  the  check 
and  his  small  eyes  glinted.  For  a  moment  his  heavy 
jaw  sagged  and  the  flabby  flesh  gathered  in  rolls  and 
pressed  tightly  against  his  white  collar.  At  length  he 
found  his  voice.  "This  check  is  not  certified,"  he 
exclaimed  hotly.  "I  refuse  to  take  it." 

Dalton  smiled. 

"I  guess  that  check  isn't  worrying  you  much,  Mr. 
Rock,"  he  said  easily.  "We're  both  pretty  well 
acquainted  with  Winfield  &  Camby's  reputation  and 
between  you  and  me,  I  hardly  think  they  would  relish 
any  inference  like  that  coming  from  a  man  in  your 
position  here." 

Rock  gulped,  as  he  recognized  the  representative  of 
the  big  jobbers.  Still  he  hesitated,  rolling  the  check 
nervously  in  his  fingers. 

Then  Hawkins  pressed  forward. 

"Don't  urge  him  to  take  that  check,  Cap,  if  he 
doesn't  want  to,"  he  drawled.  "In  fact  I  think  it 
would  make  a  much  better  story  if  he  turned  it  down 
in  the  presence  of  all  these  witnesses." 

Rock  confronted  Hawkins  angrily.  "Who  are 
you?"  he  demanded. 

Hawkins  introduced  himself  with  a  happy  smile. 
"I've  been  wanting  to  meet  you  for  some  time,  Mr. 
Rock,"  he  said.  "I'm  with  the  Port  Angeles  Daily 
Times.  Since  coming  to  Legonia  I  have  become  much 
interested  in  the  local  fishing  situation.  As  yet  there 


THE  VALUE  OF  PUBLICITY          289 

are  several  things  I'm  not  quite  clear  on.  I  believe  you 
could  enlighten  me.  What  about  an  interview?" 

Rock's  face  purpled,  then  grew  white.  His  beady 
eyes  shifted  nervously  from  one  person  to  another,  and 
focused  at  last  on  Kenneth  Gregory. 

"I'll  take  the  check/'  he  said  thickly  in  a  voice  that 
shook  with  emotion. 

It  was  some  time  later  when  the  business  of  the  day 
came  to  a  satisfactory  close.  Winfield  &  Camby's 
representative  had  departed  with  his  signed  contract 
which  McCoy  had  designated  as  a  "gilt-edge  proposi 
tion."  The  fish  were  all  unloaded  and  the  night-shift 
had  already  started  to  work  on  them.  The  events  of 
the  past  two  days  were  beginning  to  bear  fruit. 

Mascola  had  been  beaten.  Rock  had  been  beaten. 
The  sea  itself  had  been  beaten  by  Dickie  Lang  and  the 
Richard.  All  of  these  things  had  been  gone  over  again 
and  again.  Weak  from  the  reaction  of  the  continued 
strain  under  which  they  had  labored,  the  quartette  of 
principals  in  the  cannery  drama  slouched  deep  in  their 
chairs  and  conversation  began  to  lag. 

Then  Dickie  Lang  broke  the  silence. 

"We've  all  forgotten  to  eat,"  she  exclaimed.  "If 
you'll  all  come  up  to  the  house  I  know  Aunt  Mary  will 
do  her  best  for  you." 

Gregory,  Hawkins  and  McCoy  accepted  the  invita 
tion  in  unison.  As  they  followed  the  girl  out,  Gregory 
observed  to  McCoy: 

"I  can't  understand  why  Winfield  &  Camby  faced 


290  EL  DIABLO 

about  so  suddenly.  Why,  they  saved  our  lives.  Who 
would  have  thought  it?" 

"I  would,"  Hawkins  cut  in.  "Anybody  would  who 
stopped  to  think."  He  slapped  Gregory  affectionately 
on  the  shoulder.  "Didn't  I  tell  you,  Cap,  that  I'd  have 
old  Dupont  eating  out  of  your  hand  in  less  than  a 
week?"  he  challenged.  "Old  leather- face  has  an  ear 
to  the  ground.  He's  heard  the  rumble  of  my  thunder 
and  he  wants  to  get  to  cover." 

His  face  lighted  with  enthusiasm  as  he  went  on: 
"Just  wait  until  the  lightning  begins  to  play  around 
some  of  these  birds.  Then  you'll  see  them  scamper. 
I'm  going  to  the  city  to-morrow  to  have  a  talk  with 
the  C.  E.  and  I've  just  got  a  sneaking  hunch  that  I'm 
going  to  start  something," 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

TO  SOLVE  THE   MYSTERY 

'"THE  DAYS  that  followed  the  return  of  the  victo- 
•*  rious  cannery  fleet  from  El  Diablo  were  filled  with 
sunshine  for  Kenneth  Gregory.  The  effect  of  Masco- 
la's  defeat  was  far-reaching,  and,  magnified  by 
Hawkins'  publicity,  gave  to  the  Legonia  Fish  Cannery 
a  place  of  prominence  in  the  public  eye. 

Taking  immediate  advantage  of  the  growing  popu 
lar  interest,  Winfield  &  Camby  entered  into  an  exten 
sive  advertising  campaign  on  behalf  of  Gregory's 
product.  The  brands  of  the  local  firm  were  flaunted  on 
the  bill-boards  of  a  dozen  western  agencies.  Whole 
states  were  placarded.  Newspapers  featured  the  coop 
erative  enterprise  of  the  service  men  and  commented 
upon  it  in  glowing  terms.  A  current-news  company 
took  several  hundred  feet  of  film  illustrative  of  the 
industry  and  the  signal  victory  achieved  by  the  Ameri 
cans  over  the  alien  fishermen. 

Basking  in  the  reflected  lime-light,  the  Service 
Market  caught  on  like  "wild-fire"  and  taxed  the  fish 
ermen  to  their  utmost  to  supply  the  ever-increasing 
demand  for  the  fresh  product. 

Gregory's  bank  balance  began  to  mount.    The  fi- 
291 


292  EL  DIABLO 

nancial  sky  was  unclouded.  Success  loomed  bright 
upon  the  horizon. 

In  the  hey-day  of  prosperity,  no  one  noticed  the 
faint  clouds  which  crept  upward  from  the  sky-line. 
Storm-signals  fluttered  feebly  and  were  passed  by 
unheeded.  Then  Mr.  Dupont,  of  Winfield  &  Camby, 
sounded  the  warning. 

"You're  not  getting  enough  fish/'  he  exclaimed  on 
one  of  his  periodical  visits  to  Legonia.  "I'm  building 
up  a  demand  for  your  product  which  is  fast  becoming 
national.  The  way  things  are  going  now,  you  will 
not  be  able  to  supply  it.  Then  I'll  be  out  of  pocket 
for  my  advertising.  I'm  cutting  into  your  surplus 
every  day.  In  two  weeks  you'll  be  down  to  bed-rock. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?" 

As  Gregory  considered  the  question,  Mr.  Dupont 
answered  for  him :  "You've  got  to  have  more  boats. 
If  you  haven't  the  money  to  tie  up  in  them  right  now, 
I'll  back  you  and  take  a  mortgage  on  your  plant.  I'm 
willing  to  stick  by  you  and  back  you  to  the  limit.  But 
you've  got  to  furnish  the  goods." 

Gregory  made  up  his  mind  quickly.  Dupont  was 
right.  Things  were  coining  his  way  with  a  rush. 
What  was  the  use  of  losing  all  he  had  gained  by  pursu 
ing  a  policy  of  playing  safe  and  "shooting  nickels"? 
Men  who  made  fortunes  on  the  sea  had  to  take  chances. 
It  grayed  their  hair  and  seamed  their  faces  with  pre 
mature  lines.  But  that  was  part  of  the  game, — the 
toll  which  the  sea  demanded. 

"All  right,"  he  said.     "Let's  get  down  to  business. 


TO  SOLVE  THE  MYSTERY  293 

I'll  go  back  to  the  city  with  you  and  we'll  fix  things 
up.  I  know  of  some  boats  I  can  lease  while  Barrows 
is  building  the  others.  Let's  go." 

From  the  arrival  of  the  new  craft  which  went 
to  make  up  the  greater  cannery  fleet,  misfortune 
stalked  grimly  in  its  wake.  Fishing  wras  universally 
poor.  The  boats  were  forced  to  cruise  wide  areas  in 
order  to  supply  fish  enough  for  the  cannery  and  Service 
Market.  Areas  which  placed  them  beyond  reach  of 
the  radio  and  gave  Mascola  his  chance.  The  Italian 
struck  without  warning.  Angered  by  the  loss  of  his 
prestige,  strengthened  by  his  augmented  fleet,  he  be 
gan  to  hector  the  extreme  outposts  beyond  reach  of 
the  wireless. 

Then  ensued  a  long  period  of  stormy  weather. 
Owing  to  new  and  inexperienced  crews  and  the  increas 
ing  interference  of  Mascola's  men,  a  number  of  Greg 
ory's  vessels  were  wrecked  on  the  island  shores  and 
salvaged  with  great  difficulty  and  expense.  With  the 
extended  radius  of  his  operations,  overhead  expenses 
mounted  preceptibly,  cutting  down  profits  and  adding 
to  the  multiplying  worries  of  the  young  cannery-owner 
in  countless  ways. 

At  the  close  of  one  particularly  trying  day  he  sat 
alone  in  the  cannery  office  and  stared  moodily  at  a 
wireless  despatch  which  lay  on  the  desk  before  him. 
It  came  from  Diablo  and  reported  the  arrival  of  a  por 
tion  of  his  fleet  off  the  Hell-Hole. 

The  message  was  phrased  in  the  most  optimistic 
terms.  Fish  appeared  to  be  plentiful.  The  weather 


294  EL  DIABLO 

was  fine,  the  sea  smooth.  There  was  no  sign  of 
interference  from  any  quarter. 

Yet  the  worried  lines  which  creased  Gregory's  fore 
head  deepened.  It  had  been  that  way  often  of  late  at 
devil  island.  No  matter  how  clear  the  sky  appeared, 
the  shadow  of  El  Diablo  bulked  dark  and  sinister 
across  the  sunlit  horizon.  Something  would  happen 
out  there  to-night.  He  felt  sure  of  it.  He  should  have 
gone  with  the  fleet.  But  how  could  he?  He  was  far 
down  the  coast  with  the  new  boats  when  they  left. 

Diablo,  he  realized  sharply,  was  getting  on  his 
nerves.  Were  the  obstacles  which  he  had  encountered 
about  the  island  due  to  something  more  than  a  mere 
defense  of  good  fishing  grounds  ?  It  was  not  the  first 
time  he  had  asked  himself  the  question.  There  was 
something  wrong  at  El  Diablo.  He  could  not  shake 
off  the  feeling.  As  he  sat  down  to  wait  for  the  evil 
tidings  he  felt  sure  would  come,  he  took  up  an 
unopened  letter  from  Hawkins  which  had  been  on  his 
desk  two  days.  A  part  of  the  letter  caused  him  to 
read  it  the  second  time. 

"So  I  got  to  nosing  around  and  incidentally 
tumbled  on  to  something  which  I  think  may  be  of  inter 
est  to  you.  Would  it  surprise  you  to  know  that  Masco- 
la  does  not  own  a  single  fishing-boat?  It  did  me, 
though  I  might  have  known  it  if  I  had  remembered 
the  federal  statute  which  prohibits  any  but  American- 
owned  fishing  vessels  from  operating  in  American 
waters. 

"Rock  and  Bandrist  own  the  alien  fleet.  Mascola, 
you  see,  is  an  alien.  Bandrist  apparently  is  not.  I 


TO  SOLVE  THE  MYSTERY  295 

wish  by  the  way  you'd  tell  me  all  you  can  of  that  bird. 
I'm  looking  up  Silvanus  myself.  I'm  on  the  trail  of  a 
pretty  good  story,  Cap,  if  it  works  out  all  right. 
Shouldn't  be  surprised  if  I  might  not  drop  in  on  you 
any  time.  If  I  do,  I'll  want  a  boat  to  go  over  to  Diablo. 
Keep  this  all  under  your  hat.  It  isn't  censored." 

For  some  time  Gregory  stared  at  Hawkins'  letter. 
The  information  gleaned  from  its  contents  shed  a  new 
light  upon  El  Diablo.  Bandrist  and  Rock  were  in 
cahoots.  Both  were  interested  in  keeping  him  away 
from  Diablo.  Something  was  wrong  on  the  island. 
It  was  Mascola's  job  to  keep  strange  craft  from  going 
there  to  find  out.  With  the  words  strange  craft,  his 
mind  flashed  to  a  new  tangent.  To  his  half-closed 
eyes  came  a  vision  of  a  long  gray  hull,  running  dark, 
gliding  through  the  water  toward  them  like  a  destruc 
tive  shadow.  Bronson  had  said  it  looked  like  the 
Gray  Ghost.  What  was  the  Gray  Ghost?  Where  did 
she  clear  from  ?  And  what  was  her  purpose  in  putting 
in  in  the  dark  to  Hell-Hole  ? 

The  questions  multiplied  with  the  smoke-wreaths 
and  in  the  blue  haze  which  enveloped  him,  Kenneth 
Gregory  beheld  his  vague  and  intangible  suspicions 
gradually  crystallizing  into  three  fundamental  hy 
potheses  :  Something  crooked  was  being  pulled  off  at 
Diablo.  Rock  and  Bandrist  were  back  of  it.  The 
isolation  of  the  island  was  threatened  by  the  increasing 
activities  of  the  American  fleet  in  that  vicinity.  'Mas- 
cola's  opportunity  was  only  a  means  to  an  end. 

Gregory's    frown    deepened.      What    Rock    and 


296  EL  DIABLO 

Bandrist  were  doing  at  Diablo  concerned  him  in  itself, 
not  at  all.  In  so  far  as  it  related  to  Mascola's  interfer 
ence,  however,  it  was  all-important.  Mascola  was  the 
one  man  who  stood  between  him  and  his  cherished 
dreams.  If  Rock  and  Bandrist  were  behind  Mascola, 
as  he  imagined,  would  it  not  be  pursuing  a  "cart  before 
horse"  policy  to  continue  his  expensive  militant 
opposition  to  the  Italian  ?  Why  not  fathom  the  motive 
which  lay  behind  Mascola' s  action?  If  Diablo  held  a 
secret,  the  guarding  of  which  threatened  his  business 
existence,  why  should  he  not  as  an  American  citizen 
take  the  initiative  and 

His  meditations  were  disturbed  by  a  soft  tap  on 
the  office  door.  Dickie  Lang  entered. 

"I  knew  I'd  find  you  here,"  she  said.  "Smoking 
yourself  to  death  and  worrying  gray.  I've  come  to 
take  you  outside  for  a  while.  You'll  be  sick  if  you 
go  on  like  this.  Forget  for  a  while  and  come  with  me. 
The  boys  are  having  a  mussel-bake  on  the  beach  and 
they've  sent  for  you.  If  you  have  ever  eaten  kelp- 
baked  mussels  you'll  not  wait  to  be  urged.  The 
grunion  should  run  to-night  too,  and  I  want  you  to 
see  them." 

Gregory  drew  his  fingers  through  his  tousled  hair 
and  shook  his  head.  "I'm  sorry,"  he  said.  "But  I 
can't  go.  I'm  waiting  for  a  radio  from  Diablo." 

"Bosh!"  the  girl  interrupted.  "It  won't  take  one 
of  the  boys  five  minutes  to  bring  you  the  message  if  it 
comes  while  you're  gone."  She  came  closer  and 


TO  SOLVE  THE  MYSTERY  297 

placed  a  hand  on  his  arm.  "Please  come,"  she  said. 
"Just  to  please  me." 

Gregory  had  no  alternative.  Leaving  word  with 
one  of  the  night  men  to  send  him  any  radio  despatch  at 
once,  he  followed  Dickie  to  the  beach,  where  the  serv 
ice  men  sat  cross-legged  about  a  blazing  fire  of  drift 
wood.  Gregory  sank  to  the  sand  beside  the  dark 
mound  of  dampened  kelp  and  watched  the  operations 
of  the  chef  as  he  busied  himself  in  removing  the  heavy 
pieces  of  canvas  which  covered  the  sea-grass. 

"It's  nature's  fireless-cooker,"  explained  the  girl 
as  she  took  her  place  beside  him.  "You  can  cook  most 
anything  in  an  oven  like  that  if  you  know  how.  It's 
simple  enough  too.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  scoop  out 
a  hole  in  the  sand  and  line  it  with  rocks  to  hold  in  the 
heat.  Then  build  your  fire  and  let  it  burn  for  a  couple 
of  hours  to  get  a  good  bed  of  coals.  Cover  them  with 
a  thin  layer  of  damp  kelp  and  put  in  the  potatoes. 
Another  layer  of  sea-weed,  then  the  roasting-ears. 
After  that  come  the  fish,  wrapped  in  paper.  Then  the 
mussels,  clams  or  anything  else  you  want.  When  you 
get  them  all  in,  cover  the  whole  thing  with  a  lot  of 
heavy  kelp  and  batten  it  down  with  a  big  piece  of 
canvas.  The  whole  trick  is  knowing  just  when  to  open 
the  oven.  Nothing  can  burn  so  it's  better  to  leave  it  too 
long  than  to  try  to  hurry  things." 

Gregory  took  the  tin-plate,  piled  high  with  its 
smoking  delicacies,  and  leisurely  freed  a  succulent 
mussel  from  its  shell.  As  he  placed  it  in  his  mouth  his 


298  EL  DIABLO 

eyes  lit  up  with  genuine  pleasure  and  the  anxious  lines 
slowly  disappeared  from  his  face. 

"What  do  you  think  of  them?" 

He  could  only  gasp  his  appreciation.  Dickie 
smiled  at  the  rapidly  disappearing  contents  of  his  plate. 
He  looked  like  a  new  man  already.  Nothing  like  a 
mussel-bake  in  the  open  air  to  make  people  forget  their 
troubles. 

About  the  dying  drift-wood  fire,  the  service  men 
drew  closer  together  and  began  to  sing. 

"There's  a  long,  long  trail  a-winding 
Into  the  land  of  my  dreams." 

As  their  voices  rose  above  the  dull  boom  of  the 
surf,  Gregory's  thoughts  turned  to  the  words  of  the 
song.  The  trail  had  been  long.  How  long  and  how 
devious,  he  had  never  quite  before  realized.  Perhaps 
it  was  because  he  was  tired  and  the  firelight  made 
him  think.  The  "land  of  his  dreams"  was  still  far 
ahead.  Blocked  from  his  vision  for  the  time  being  by 
an  intangible  something  which  lay  like  a  dark  shadow 
across  the  path. 

"Over  there.    Over  there" 

He  started  and  looked  involuntarily  toward  the 
phosphorescent  line  of  breakers.  Over  there?  Once 
it  had  meant  France.  Now  it  came  to  him  with  a  new 
meaning.  Beyond  the  gleaming  waves  he  fancied  he 
could  see  the  jagged  shore-line  of  El  Diablo. 


TO  SOLVE  THE  MYSTERY  299 

"And  we  won't  come  back, 
Till  it's  over,  over  there." 

Gregory's  eyes  narrowed.  When  "it  was  over, 
over  there,"  perhaps  it  would  be  over  everywhere. 
Then,  and  only  then,  \vould  he  reach  "the  land  of  his 
dreams."  He  looked  guiltily  at  Dickie  Lang  and  was 
glad  that  she  could  not  read  his  thoughts  concerning 
the  end  of  the  long  trail. 

"What  were  you  thinking  of,  just  then?  I  never 
saw  you  look  like  that  before." 

It  was  the  eternal  feminine  speaking. 

Gregory  shook  his  head.  "I  never  did  look  like 
that  before,"  he  said.  "Because  I  never  thought  quite 
that  far.  Some  day  perhaps  I'll  tell  you  what  I  was 
thinking." 

The  moon,  which  had  shyly  appeared  over  the  low 
brown  hills,  grew  bolder  and  mingled  its  rays  with 
those  of  the  fire  in  crowding  back  the  shadows.  Then 
a  shout  came  from  the  water. 

"Grunion" 

The  singing  ceased  abruptly  and  the  service  men 
scrambled  to  their  feet  and  raced  down  the  beach. 

Dickie  made  haste  to  follow. 

"Come  on,"  she  cried  to  Gregory.  "And  I'll  show 
you  the  sight  of  your  life." 

Following  the  girl  to  the  wet  sands,  Gregory  was 
amazed  at  the  spectacle.  The  silver  waves  were  alive 
with  glistening  fish.  Borne  high  on  the  crest  of  the 
tumbling  breakers,  they  surged  to  the  beach  by  thou- 


300  EL  DIABLO 

sands  and  lay  quivering  like  quick-silver,  stranded  in 
the  sand  by  the  back-wash.  With  a  deafening  shout 
men  scrambled  to  the  water's  edge  and  scooped  them 
up  in  their  hands.  Dickie  rushed  to  the  water  and 
returned  with  a  small  fish,  somewhat  resembling  a 
sardine. 

"Grunion,"  she  announced.  "They  come  up  at 
certain  seasons  of  the  year  to  spawn.  There  are  only 
three  places  on  the  coast  south  of  the  Golden  Gate 
where  they  run.  For  three  or  four  nights  now  while 
the  tide  is  high  and  the  moon  full  they'll  be  swept  up 
on  this  beach  and  left  to  lay  their  eggs  in  the  wet  sand. 
If  you  get  closer  you  can  see  them  standing  on  their 
tails.  You'll  never  believe  it  unless  you  do  see  it. 
You've  got  to  work  fast  to  get  them  for  they  hop 
along  the  beach  only  for  a  second.  Then  the  next 
breaker  takes  them  out." 

Handing  him  one  of  the  little  fish,  she  continued : 
"Take  him  up  to  the  fire  and  look  at  him.  Against  a 
good  light  you  can  see  clear  though  them.  If  you  had 
a  skillet  hot  on  the  coals  and  threw  in  a  handful  of 
grunion  you  could  never  have  a  finer  dish.  But  they 
won't  hardly  keep  over  night.  For  that  reason  they 
are  good  for  nothing,  commercially." 

She  paused  abruptly  and  listened.  "I  thought  I 
heard  some  one  calling,"  she  said. 

Turning  about  they  saw  three  men  standing  by  the 
fire. 

"Maybe  it's  some  word  from  the  boys,"  Gregory 
exclaimed.  "Let's  go  and  see." 


TO  SOLVE  THE  MYSTERY  301 

At  the  fireside  they  came  upon  Hawkins  with  two 
strangers,  whom  he  introduced  as  brothers  of  his  craft. 
Drawing  Gregory  aside  while  Dickie  conversed  with 
Slade  and  Billings,  he  said : 

"Listen,  Cap.  I  want  a  boat  and  a  man  to  run  it 
who  knows  Diablo  from  the  water-line  up.  I'm  on  the 
trail  of  the  biggest  kind  of  a  scoop.  I  can't  give  you 
all  the  dope  but  I  can  tell  you  a  few  things  that  will 
open  your  eyes." 

The  two  men  drew  farther  into  the  shadows  and 
conferred  in  low-pitched  voices,  broken  now  and  then 
by  Gregory's  muttered  exclamations.  While  they 
talked  one  of  the  night  men  from  the  cannery  hurried 
on  to  the  scene. 

"Message  for  Mr.  Gregory,"  he  called. 

Gregory  took  the  message  and  drew  nearer  the 
coals.  In  the  red  glow  of  the  fire,  he  read : 

From :    Launch  Snipe 

At  Sea.  Five  miles  off  Hell-Hole. 
Got  into  fight  with  Mascola  about  an  hour  ago. 
His  boats  drove  ours  from  island.  His  men  drunk  and 
armed  with  shotguns.  Some  of  boys  pretty  well  filled 
up.  Curlew  lagged  with  engine  trouble  and  was  cut 
in  two  off  Hell-Hole  Isthmus.  Sunk  in  five  minutes 
by  some  big  boat,  running  dark.  Albatross  picked  up 
crew.  All  saved.  Wire  what  to  do.  Twelve  boats 
here.  Others  at  Cavalan  for  repairs. 

Jones. 

Dickie's  eyes  shone  angrily  at  the  message.  "Damn 
them!"  she  cried.  "They  got  my  Curleiv."  Grasping 


302  EL  DIABLO 

Gregory's  arm,  she  exclaimed:  "There's  a  bunch  of 
the  fleet  off  San  Anselmo  on  the  mainland  side. 
There's  some  more  a  few  miles  down  the  coast  from 
Cavalan.  They  can  all  make  Diablo  in  two  hours  if 
you  wire  them  right  away.  We  can  go  over  in  the 
Richard  and  round  them  up  and  smash  Mascola's 
whole  fleet.  What  if  they  have  shotguns?  We  have 
rifles.  Come  on.  What  are  you  waiting  for?" 

Dickie  Lang  was  breathless.  Her  cheeks  glowed. 
Her  eyes  were  shining. 

Gregory  shook  his  head  slowly  and  looked  at 
Hawkins. 

"The  Gray  Ghost  ran  the  Curlew  down  about  an 
hour  ago  off  the  Hell-Hole  Isthmus,"  he  said. 

The  two  strangers  drew  closer  and  listened  intently 
to  the  news  while  Dickie  chafed  at  Gregory's  failure 
to  get  under  way. 

"That  means  we've  got  to  be  off,"  exclaimed  one 
of  the  men.  "How  about  going  over  in  that  speed 
boat  of  yours  ?" 

Gregory  nodded.  "That's  what  I  was  figuring 
on,"  he  said.  "I'm  going  to  send  a  radio  to  all  my 
boats  within  a  thirty-mile  radius  of  the  island  to  rein 
force  the  fleet  and  mix  it  with  Mascola  off  the  Hell- 
Hole  Isthmus  on  the  north  side.  While  they're  busy 
on  that  side,  it  will  leave  us  a  clear  field  on  the  other." 

Dickie's  eyes  opened  wide  at  his  words.  As  they 
moved  away  together  in  the  direction  of  the  cannery, 
she  cried:  "I  don't  understand  at  all.  Aren't  you 
going  to  help  the  boys  out?" 


TO  SOLVE  THE  MYSTERY  303 

Gregory  shook  his  head  and  the  grim  lines  tight 
ened  about  his  mouth. 

"No,"  he  answered.  "Not  this  time.  That  is  what 
Rock,  Bandrist  and  Mascola  think  I  am  going  to  do. 
But  I'm  going  to  fool  them.  There's  something  back 
of  all  this  that  we  can  only  guess  at  now.  Diablo  has 
a  secret  our  fathers  died  to  learn.  I'm  sure  of  it  now. 
To-night  I'm  going  to  find  out  what  it  is." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
THE  ISLAND'S  PRISONER 

*T\IABLO  was  steeped  in  moonlight.  For  miles 
•^*^  about  the  sea  gleamed  like  a  mirror.  The  grim 
mountains  which  guarded  the  shore  were  robed  in 
saffron  and  checkered  with  black  by  the  dark  shadows 
of  the  towering  peaks  as  they  fell  athwart  the  hillsides 
and  mingled  with  the  darkness  which  hugged  the 
canyons. 

From  a  small  cave  high  up  on  a  rocky  canyon  wall 
the  figure  of  a  man  emerged  and  crept  silently  into 
the  shadows.  Picking  his  way  with  great  caution 
along  a  winding  sheep-trail,  he  reached  the  summit  of 
the  hill  and  looked  about.  The  damp  sea  air  fanned 
his  long  hair  and  caused  him  to  look  in  the  direction  of 
the  fleecy  white  clouds  which  were  creeping  upward 
from  the  horizon.  Soon  there  would  be  fog.  Then 
he  could  continue  on  his  way  to  the  brackish  spring  on 
the  bluff-side  overlooking  the  south  shore.  From  there 
it  was  only  a  stone's  throw  to  the  beach  where  the 
mussels  and  abalones  clung  so  thickly  to  the  rocks. 

The  thought  of  the  raw  shellfish  sickened  him. 
For  days  he  had  had  nothing  else  to  eat.  Shrinking 
closer  into  the  shadows  of  the  sage  and  cactus,  he 

304 


THE  ISLAND'S  PRISONER  305 

waited  for  the  fog.  Then  he  could  go  on  on  his 
nightly  journey.  How  many  months  had  he  been  a 
prisoner  on  El  Diablo  ?  He  had  lost  all  track  of  time. 
But  what  did  it  matter  ?  Soon  he  would  be  dead.  For 
warm  food  and  a  drink  of  pure  water  he  would  almost 
give  himself  up  now. 

Borne  on  the  fog-wind  came  cries  and  shouts  from 
the  other  side  of  the  island.  Perhaps  help  was  coming 
at  last.  But  no,  it  was  only  the  fishermen  fighting 
among  themselves  off  the  Hell-Hole.  He  had  heard 
them  many  times  before  across  the  narrow  isthmus. 
They  would  only  go  away  as  they  had  always  done 
and  leave  him  to  starve.  The  faint  pulsing  of  a  motor 
launch  directed  his  attention  to  the  sea. 

In  the  paling  moonlight,  a  gray  blot  clouded  the 
water,  moved  slowly  among  the  rocks  and  merged 
with  the  shadows.  It  was  the  same  boat  he  had  seen 
so  often  in  the  past.  Always  it  came  to  the  island  at 
night,  running  dark.  Once  in  the  bright  moonlight 
he  had  seen  men  land  on  the  rocks  and  walk  up  the 
beach  to  a  large  cave  which  extended  far  into  the 
cliff.  As  he  had  huddled  closer  into  the  scant  shadows 
of  the  rock-mottled  ledge,  other  men  had  come  down 
the  trail  from  the  island  and  he  had  been  forced  to 
slide  into  the  chilling  waters  of  a  grass-grown  pool  to 
escape  detection.  Mother  of  God,  it  had  been  a  nar 
row  escape. 

The  fog  thickened  and  he  continued  on  his  way  to 
the  spring.  Creeping  noiselessly  through  the  brush  he 
reached  the  trail  which  led  downward  to  the  beach. 


306  FL  DIABLO 

Then  he  stopped  and  listened.  The  soft  grating  of  a 
muted  chain  caused  him  to  drop  lower  in  the  grass  and 
draw  back.  Silently  he  retraced  his  steps  until  he 
reached  the  cover  of  the  heavier  brush  which  fringed 
the  hillside. 

The  strange  vessel  was  dropping  anchor  again  in 
the  little  cove.  He  dared  not  run  the  risk  of  going 
farther  down  the  trail.  There  were  mussels  and 
abalones  around  the  next  point.  He  would  get  them. 
By-  that  time  perhaps  the  men  would  be  gone  and  he 
could  return  by  the  spring.  The  fog  settled  close  about 
him,  blinding  his  eyes  and  clinging  to  his  shivering 
body.  For  a  moment  he  stopped  and  sucked  thirstily 
at  the  wet  grass.  Then  he  crawled  on. 

Planing  high  on  the  glistening  waves,  the  Richard 
sped  onward  across  the  moonlit  sea  in  the  direction  of 
El  Diablo.  At  the  wheel,  Kenneth  Gregory  strove  to 
concentrate  his  mind  upon  the  quest  which  lay  before 
him.  But  another  thought  obtruded  with  ever  recur 
ring  frequency.  Why  had  he  permitted  Dickie  Lang 
to  accompany  the  party  to  the  island?  There  would 
be  danger.  There  was  always  danger  at  El  Diablo. 
Landing  upon  the  island  would  be  an  added  risk  if 
Hawkins'  suspicions  had  any  grounds  for  fact.  The 
girl's  threat  that  she  would  withdraw  her  support  from 
the  cannery  if  not  permitted  to  go  with  the  expedi 
tion,  was  only  a  bluff:  Why  had  he  not  remained 
firm  ?  He  knew  the  answer.  There  was  a  look  in  the 
girl's  eyes  which  he  could  not  withstand.  Something 


THE  ISLAND'S  PRISONER  307 

in  her  voice  which  left  him  powerless  to  refuse  as  she 
had  said: 

"Our  fathers  were  not  afraid.  They  died  in  one 
boat  to  learn  Diablo's  secret.  We've  fought  together 
from  the  start.  Don't  leave  me  at  the  finish."  She 
might  have  added:  "If  they  get  you,  they  might  as 
well  get  me  too." 

But  her  eyes  told  him  that.  Well,  it  was  too  late 
now  to  change  his  mind.  The  girl  was  here  and  it 
was  up  to  him  to  leave  her  in  a  place  of  safety  if  such 
could  be  found  upon  the  island.  While  Hawkins  con 
ferred  with  his  two  friends,  Gregory  laid  his  plans. 

He  would  leave  Dickie  with  the  Richard.  She  had 
her  automatic  and  a  rifle.  They  would  lay  in  close  to 
shore  on  the  south  shore,  opposite  the  Hell-Hole.  The 
island  was  narrowest  there  and  it  was  generally  in  that 
vicinity  that  things  had  happened  oftenest  in  the  past. 
That  was  where  the  Gray  Ghost  put  in,  the  place  too 
where  his  father  and  Bill  Lang  had  met  their  death. 
With  the  fishing  fleet  fighting  Mascola's  boats  on  the 
north  side  the  opposite  shore  of  the  island  might  not 
be  held  in  such  rigid  surveillance. 

His  thoughts  turned  again  to  the  girl  by  his  side. 
The  rock-shadowed  coves  would  afford  a  fair  anchor 
age  for  the  Richard,  even  on  such  a  night  as  this. 
There  Dickie  could  see  without  being  seen.  Should 
danger  threaten  while  the  landing  party  were  ashore, 
she  must  put  to  sea.  He  must  make  that  perfectly 
clear  to  her  at  once. 

As  he  expected,  he  encountered  stubborn  resistance 


308  EL  DIABLO 

from  Dickie  Lang*.  If  there  was  anything  to  be  found 
out,  she  wanted  to  be  there  to  see  it.  She  was  not 
afraid.  She  could  shoot  as  well  as  a  bunch  of  news 
papermen.  What  was  the  idea  of  leaving  her  clear 
out  of  it?  Gregory  smiled  at  her  slurring  reference 
to  Hawkins*  two  friends.  Then  he  reflected  that 
what  the  girl  did  not  know  concerning  the  real  object 
of  the  mission  to  Diablo  would  cause  her  no  worry. 
Until  the  party  landed  at  least,  he  was  in  command 
of  the  expedition.  And  orders  must  be  obeyed. 

"You'll  have  to  do  as  I  say,"  he  concluded. 
"Whether  you  like  it  or  not." 

Dickie's  lip  curled  and  she  turned  her  head  away 
to  hide  her  face.  "All  right,"  she  answered.  "I'll 
stay  on  the  Richard"  To  herself,  she  added :  "But  I'll 
use  my  own  judgment  when  it  comes  to  running 
away." 

In  the  silence  of  the  fog  the  prisoner  of  El  Diablo 
crept  warily  on.  Deep  ravines  laced  his  path  and 
yawned  close  about  the  trail.  A  misstep  would  hurl 
him  to  the  bottom  of  the  rock-lined  gorge  which  was 
swallowed  up  in  the  mists  at  his  feet.  Suddenly  he 
stopped  and  threw  himself  to  full  length  on  the  ground. 
Far  above  him  the  solid  whiteness  of  the  fog  wall  was 
broken  by  irregular  flashes  of  blue.  To  his  ears  came 
the  sound  of  snapping  spluttering  flames. 

Covering  his  head  with  his  arms,  he  crossed  him 
self.  The  devil  was  speaking  from  the  hilltop.  On 
two  other  occasions  he  had  heard  the  crackling  of  the 


THE  ISLAND'S  PRISONER  309 

flames  near  the  old  sheep-herder's  shack  on  the  crest 
of  the  hill.  He  had  taken  the  wrong  trail.  Had  gone 
too  far.  Worming  his  way  down  the  path  he  fled 
from  the  flashes  of  blue  light. 

For  some  time  he  retraced  his  steps  in  silence, 
thanking  his  saints  that  the  devil  had  spoken  to  warn 
him  from  the  spot.  Then  the  soft  breathing  of  a 
motor-launch  caused  him  to  stop  and  listen.  He  was 
again  at  the  bluff-side.  Soon  he  would  reach  the 
rocks.  The  echoes  of  the  motor-boat  died  suddenly 
away  and  he  groped  his  way  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff 
and  scrambled  down  the  trail. 

"You'd  better  take  her  now.  The  fog's  getting 
pretty  thick  and  I  don't  know  the  shore-line  along 
here." 

Dickie  Lang  took  the  wheel. 

"I  don't  know  it  any  too  well  myself,"  she  ad 
mitted.  "We'll  have  to  go  mighty  slow  and  feel  our 
way  along." 

Throttling  to  quarter-speed  they  skirted  the  south 
shore  of  the  island  and  nosed  their  way  along  the 
coast.  At  length  the  girl  suggested  a  halt. 

"We  ought  to  be  nearly  up  to  the  Hell-Hole 
Isthmus  by  now,"  she  whispered.  "On  the  beach 
along  here  there  should  be  a  lot  of  tide-water  caves 
if  we're  where  I  think.  Around  the  next  point  is  the 
goose-neck.  We'd  better  go  ashore  and  have  a  look. 
We  may  be  too  far  down  already." 

Gregory  agreed. 


310  EL  DIABLO 

"I'll  take  Hawkins  and  Slade  and  row  ashore," 
he  said.  "Billings  can  stay  with  you  on  the  launch." 

Dickie's  objections  were  quickly  overruled  and  the 
canvas-wrapped  anchor  chain  was  lowered  into  the 
water  while  the  dory  was  pulled  alongside. 

"Look  along  the  base  of  the  cliff  for  the  caves," 
cautioned  the  girl  in  a  low  voice.  "And  watch  out 
for  your  oars.  Keep  them  in  the  water  and  be  .sure 
the  wrappings  fit  tight  in  the  locks." 

Gregory  nodded  and  took  his  place  in  the  skiff. 

"We'll  be  back  in  five  minutes,"  he  said.  Then  he 
shoved  the  dory  out  into  the  fog. 

From  the  ledge  of  rock  which  bordered  the  cove, 
the  half-starved  man  pulled  the  razor-backed  mussels 
from  the  sea-grass  and  broke  them  open  with  his 
pocket-knife.  For  some  time  he  ate  rapidly.  Then 
he  ceased  pulling  at  the  shell-fish  and  listened.  A 
boat  was  coming  to  anchor  in  the  cove.  He  could  hear 
the  soft  slip  of  the  chain  through  the  chaulks.  Per 
haps  they  would  land  on  the  beach.  Then  he  would  be 
trapped  on  the  ledge  until  they  had  gone. 

Picking  his  way  over  the  barnacled  rocks  he 
started  for  the  beach.  As  he  climbed  from  the  ledge, 
he  stopped  suddenly  and  clung  to  the  rocks.  On  the 
beach  at  his  feet,  and  only  a  few  feet  away,  he  heard 
the  pebbles  grate  beneath  the  bow  of  a  boat.  The  men 
were  already  landing.  Staring  into  the  opaque  wall  of 
white,  he  saw  it  clouded  by  three  dark  blots.  Fol 
lowed  the  rattle  of  stones,  the  soft  crunch  of  the  sand 


THE  ISLAND'S  PRISONER  311 

dying  slowly  away  into  silence.  The  men  had  gone  on 
up  the  beach. 

The  man  who  clung  to  the  rocks  climbed  noise 
lessly  to  the  sand,  his  brain  burning  with  one  great 
idea.  While  the  visitors  were  gone  from  the  place  he 
would  steal  their  boat.  In  the  fog  no  one  could  find 
him.  He  could  row  about  the  island  and  be  picked  up 
at  sea  in  the  morning  by  some  fishing-boat.  The 
great  chance  had  come  to  him  at  last. 

Perhaps  the  men  had  left  another  to  guard  the 
boat.  The  thought  caused  him  to  draw  his  pocket- 
knife.  Grasping  it  tightly  in  his  shaking  fingers,  he 
cra\vled  silently  over  the  wet  sand,  feeling  for  the  sides 
of  the  dory  with  his  extended  arm. 

Hope  danced  brightly  before  his  eyes  as  he 
touched  the  boat.  Weakened  by  hunger,  he  rubbed 
his  shriveled  limbs  and  tottered  to  his  feet,  waving  his 
knife.  Then  he  chuckled  aloud.  There  was  no  one 
in  the  boat. 

Throwing  the  knife  upon  one  of  the  seats,  he 
leaped  again  to  the  sand  and  began  to  shove.  Mother 
of  God,  he  had  no  strength.  The  bottom  grated 
noisily  on  the  pebbles.  Then  the  dory  slid  into  the 
water.  Laughing  to  himself,  he  threw  his  body  over 
the  rail  and  felt  about  for  the  oars. 

Men  were  running  down  the  beach.  He  had  not  a 
second  to  lose.  His  hand  closed  upon  the  oars.  He 
was  saved.  Tugging  feebly  at  the  heavy  sweeps,  he 
drew  them  through  the  water  with  all  his  might  and 
the  dory  moved  slowly  forward.  Again  his  weak- 


3i2  EL  DIABLO 

ened  muscles  responded  to  the  fevered  call  of  his  brain. 
Suddenly  he  felt  the  dory  strike  a  heavy  object  ahead. 
Thrown  half  from  his  seat  by  the  impact  he  dropped 
an  oar,  regained  it  on  the  instant  and  pushed  the  skiff 
away  from  the  launch  as  hands  reached  out  to  grasp  it. 
Then  he  heard  the  low  murmur  of  voices  from  the 
motor-boat.  As  he  headed  close  in  to  the  rocks  he  felt 
the  stern  of  the  dory  dip  sharply. 

Gregory  whirled  at  the  sharp  rattle  of  oars  and 
raced  down  the  beach  in  the  direction  of  the  dory. 
Some  one  was  meddling  with  their  boat.  When  he 
reached  the  place  where  they  had  left  the  skiff,  he 
found  it  gone.  From  the  waters  of  the  little  cove 
came  the  creak  of  oar-locks.  Plunging  into  the  water, 
Gregory  swam  rapidly  in  the  direction  of  the  launch. 
Whoever  had  taken  the  boat  was  heading  straight  for 
the  Richard. 

A  sharp  bump  sounded  close  ahead  and  Gregory 
redoubled  his  efforts  to  reach  the  side  of  the  launch. 
Then  he  narrowly  escaped  being  run  down  by  the 
small  boat  which  had  turned  and  was  heading  in  for 
the  rocks.  Grasping  the  stern  of  the  dory  as  it  moved 
by  him,  he  hung  for  a  moment  while  he  regained  his 
wind,  striving  vainly  to  ascertain  how  many  passen 
gers  the  skiff  carried. 

Suddenly  he  noticed  that  the  oars  no  longer  dis 
turbed  the  water  and  the  skiff  had  lost  its  way.  Then 
he  heard  the  sound  of  shuffling  footsteps  coming  to 
ward  the  stern.  Releasing  his  hold,  he  swam  along 


THE  ISLAND'S  PRISONER  313 

the  side  and  caught  the  bow,  dragged  his  body  from 
the  water  and  tumbled  into  the  boat.  The  same  in 
stant  a  heavy  oar  crashed  against  the  seat  close  to  his 
head  and  a  dark  figure  flung  itself  upon  him. 

It  was  but  the  work  of  a  moment  for  Gregory  to 
overpower  the  thief  of  the  small  boat  and  bind  him 
with  the  dory's  painter.  The  man  had  fought 
desperately  only  for  a  moment,  then  collapsed,  and 
jibber  ing  with  fear  had  allowed  himself  to  be  bound 
without  a  struggle. 

Turning  the  skiff  about,  Gregory  started  for  the 
launch.  Had  the  man  landed  others  on  the  Richard? 
Surely  he  had  reached  the  speed-boat  and  had  put 
about.  Was  he  bent  only  upon  stealing  the  boat  or 
was  he  only  one  of  many  who  would  be  down  upon 
them  any  minute? 

Arriving  alongside  the  Richard  Dickie  hailed 
him  softly. 

"Some  fellow  tried  to  steal  our  boat,"  he  explained 
to  the  girl.  "If  you'll  get  Billings  to  help  me  get  him 
aboard  I'll  go  back  and  pick  up  the  boys." 

Dickie's  companion  in  the  launch  assisted  him  in 
lifting  the  prisoner  to  the  Richard's  darkened  cockpit 
where  he  lay  huddled  in  a  heap. 

As  Gregory  rowed  away  in  the  direction  of  the 
shore,  Billings  veiled  an  electric  torch  and  allowed  its 
tiny  ray  to  fall  full  upon  the  face  of  the  quivering 
prisoner. 

"A  greaser,"  he  whispered  to  the  girl.  "Look. 
He's  scared  to  death." 


3i4  EL  DIABLO 

Dickie  looked  quickly  at  the  crumpled  little  figure. 
Then  she  fell  on  her  knees  close  beside  the  man  and 
peered  intently  into  his  shriveled  face.  For  an  instant 
she  remained  motionless  staring  into  the  face  of  the 
trembling  captive. 

"My  God!"  she  whispered.     "It's  Mexican  Joe." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

UNDER  ORDERS 

V/OU  have  seen  nothing  of  the  speed-boat  from 
1  Legonia?" 

Mascola  shook  his  head  in  answer  to  the  question 
and  reached  for  the  bottle  which  stood  on  the  table  in 
Bandrist's  ranch-house. 

Bandrist  jerked  it  away.  "Cut  that  out,"  he  said 
sternly.  "You've  had  enough.  To-night  you  have 
work  to  do.  You  must  keep  sober." 

Mascola  scowled,  glaring  angrily  at  the  islander  as 
he  went  on : 

"Mr.  Gregory  left  Legonia  at  ten-thirty  with  his 
speed-boat.  There  were  five  in  the  launch.  Four 
men  and  Miss  Lang." 

Mascola  drew  in  his  breath  sharply. 

"That  damned  Lang  girl,"  he  began.  "She  is 
a " 

Bandrist  slid  from  his  chair  with  a  quick  move 
ment  which  carried  him  wriggling  about  the  table. 

"Keep  your  tongue  still,"  he  gritted  as  he  towered 
over  the  Italian.  "You  talk  too  much." 

Mascola  started  from  his  chair,  but  there  was  a  look 
in  Bandrist's  eyes  which  made  him  drop  back.  A 
sneering  smile  played  about  the  Italian's  lips  but  he 

315 


3i6  EL  DIABLO 

said  nothing.  If  Bandrist  was  a  fool  about  a  woman, 
what  was  that  to  him?  He  could  not  afford  to  quar 
rel  with  the  islander.  Not  yet. 

"How  did  Peters  know  they  were  coming  here?" 
he  asked  after  a  moment. 

"He  didn't,"  Bandrist  answered  shortly.  "But  it 
is  only  natural  that  they  should  come  here.  Their 
boats  have  been  fishing  along  the  north  shore  of  the 
island.  Your  men  failed  to  drive  them  off." 

Mascola  flushed. 

"My  men  did  drive  them  off,"  he  contradicted 
hotly.  "Only  a  few  minutes  ago  they  returned  with 
other  boats.  I  will  drive  those  off  too." 

Bandrist  smiled  insultingly. 

"Why  don't  you  do  it?"  he  challenged.  "To-night 
is  a  time  I  must  have  something  more  than  talk.  I 
want  you  to  go  down  and  join  your  fleet  at  once, 
keep  a  close  watch  and  if  the  speed-boat  does  not  ar 
rive  within  a  half-hour,  let  me  know  immediately." 

Mascola  made  no  move  to  obey. 

"Gonzolez  is  laying  in  at  the  goose-neck,"  he  said. 
"I  sent  Rossi  round  to  join  him.  The  Fuor  d' Italia 
lies  in  the  little  cove  beyond." 

Bandrist's  blue  eyes  flashed.  "I  can  tend  to  that," 
he  exclaimed.  "You  do  what  you're  told  and  quit 
meddling  with  my  business." 

"It's  my  business  too,"  Mascola  retorted  doggedly. 
''Gonzolez  is  becoming  angry  at  the  delay.  He  will 
wait  no  longer." 

Bandrist  walked  slowly  to  the  window  and  stared 


UNDER  ORDERS  317 

out  into  the  fog.  When  he  faced  about  an  automatic 
shone  dully  in  his  hand. 

"Do  as  I  tell  you,"  he  ordered  quietly.  "And 
do  it  quick." 

Mascola's  face  purpled.  Still  he  made  no  move  to 
do  Bandrist's  bidding.  "Don't  forget,"  he  said 
thickly,  "that  there  are  others  who  know  besides  you 
and  me.  If  anything  happens  to  me  at  Diablo  there 
is  one  who  will  tell  what  he  knowrs.  I  have  seen  to 
that." 

Bandrist's  fingers  tightened  on  the  revolver.  Then 
he  slowly  replaced  it  in  his  pocket.  The  Italian  might 
only  be  bluffing,  but  it  was  best  to  take  no  unnecessary 
chances.  Mastering  his  anger  at  Mascola's  insubordi 
nation,  Bandrist  walked  again  to  the  table. 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,"  he  said  pleasantly.  "Let 
us  go  on  to  the  goose-neck." 

When  Gregory  returned  to  the  Richard  with 
Slade  and  Hawkins  he  found  Dickie  Lang  huddled 
close  beside  the  crumpled  figure  of  his  captive.  The 
girl  was  sobbing  softly  as  she  listened  to  the  whis 
pered  words  of  the  little  Mexican. 

Feeling  his  way  to  her  side,  he  placed  an  arm  about 
her,  and  drawing  her  away  from  the  other  man,  waited 
for  her  to  speak.  Then  she  explained  in  a  voice 
shaken  by  tears. 

"It's  Mexican  Joe.  He  was  with  our  fathers  on 
the  Gull.  No  one  knew  it  at  Legonia.  He  went  out 
with  them  at  midnight  and  reached  Diablo  a  little 


3i8  EL  DIABLO 

before  daybreak.  They  left  him  on  the  launch  while 
they  went  ashore.  He  saw  them  murdered  on  the 
beach.  The  launch  was  run  down  a  few  minutes  later. 
Joe  was  thrown  overboard.  He  struck  his  head  on  the 
rocks.  When  he  came  to,  he  heard  them  searching 
for  him  but  he  hid  in  the  sea-grass  and  escaped  to  the 
other  side  of  the  island.  He's  been  living  there  ever 
since  in  a  cave  in  the  hills.  It  was  he  who  stole  the 
gun  and  provisions  from  the  Petrel" 

Gregory  held  the  girl  close  as  she  told  the  Mexi 
can's  story.  For  an  instant  tears  dimmed  his  eyes, 
then  melted  away  before  the  white-hot  heat  of  the 
blood-lust  which  surged  into  his  heart.  His  father 
had  been  murdered  at  El  Diablo.  By  whom?  He  put 
the  question. 

The  girl's  fingers  tightened  on  his  arm  and  she 
placed  her  lips  close  to  his  ear. 

"A  number  of  men  overpowered  them  on  the  beach 
and  drowned  them.  Mascola  was  with  them." 

Gregory's  jaws  locked  and  the  muscles  of  his  body 
grew  tense.  Mascola  had  murdered  his  father  and  Bill 
Lang.  Releasing  the  girl,  he  hurried  over  to  the  three 
men  who  were  talking  to  the  Mexican  and  grasped 
Hawkins  by  the  arm. 

"What  are  we  waiting  for?"  he  cried.  "While 
you're  talking  the  man  may  get  away." 

"Just  a  minute,  Cap,"  Hawkins  remonstrated. 
"Things  are  coming  along  fine.  Billings  and  Slade 
are  learning  a  lot  from  the  Mex.  As  soon  as  they  get 
him  filled  up  with  those  sandwiches  he's  going  to  show 


UNDER  ORDERS  319 

us  the  wireless  tower  and  the  cove  where  the  Gray 
Ghost  put  in  to-night.  He  says  there's  a  cave  close 
by  where  he  saw " 

Gregory  shook  off  his  restraining  arm. 

"What  is  all  that  to  me?"  he  flashed.  "Don't  you 
know  that  Mascola  murdered  my  father?  Let  the  men 
go  where  they  will.  I'm  going  after  Mascola." 

Hawkins  started  at  Gregory's  words. 

"I  didn't  know,  Cap,"  he  muttered  blankly.  For 
a  brief  instant  he  strove  to  express  his  sympathy  for 
his  friend.  Then  he  gave  it  up.  "Brace  up,  old  man," 
he  said  at  last.  "Take  a  grip  on  yourself.  You  can't 
do  anything  over  here  alone.  Before  morning  we'll 
have  the  whole  gang  rounded  up  and  Mascola  with 
them.  I  guess  the  boys  are  ready  to  go  now." 

Gregory  shivered  in  his  wet  clothes  and  Hawkins 
pressed  his  slicker  upon  him.  While  the  men  took 
their  places  in  the  skiff  Gregory  found  Dickie  Lang. 
The  girl  came  into  his  outstretched  arms  and  clung 
close  to  him  in  the  darkness. 

"Take  me  with  you,"  she  pleaded.  "Don't  leave 
me  here.  I  can't  stand  it." 

He  released  her  gently  and  shook  his  head. 

"No,  dearest,"  he  said  softly.  "If  you  were  with 
us  I  might  be  afraid.  And  I  can't  afford  to  be  afraid 
to-night.  Stay  close  and  keep  under  cover.  If  the 
fog  lifts,  pull  the  anchor  and  drift  in  to  the  shadow  of 
the  rocks." 

"Why  don't  you  tell  me  what  you  are  going  to 
do?"  the  girl  asked.  "You  know  that " 


320  EL  DIABLO 

Gregory  drew  her  closer. 

"I'm  going  to  get  Mascola,"  he  answered  in  a  whis 
per.  Then  his  voice  changed  suddenly.  "And  if  I 
don't  come  back,"  he  went  on.  "You'll  know  now 
that  I  love  you." 

For  an  instant  his  lips  met  hers.  Then  he  climbed 
over  the  coaming  and  joined  the  men  in  the  dory. 
Dickie  listened  to  the  soft  creak  of  the  oar-locks  until 
the  sound  was  no  longer  audible. 

Mascola  had  killed  her  father  and  Richard  Gregory. 
His  son  had  gone  to  bring  the  Italian  to  justice.  But 
what  could  five  men  do  on  the  island  against  the 
hordes  of  Bandrist  and  Mascola?  Who  were  the 
mysterious  strangers  who  had  accompanied  them  from 
Legonia?  The  questions  crowded  close  upon  one 
another  as  they  raced  through  her  brain.  Then  her 
mind  surrendered  to  a  single  thought, — a  thought 
which  warmed  her  heart  and  took  possession  of  her 
being. 

"You'll  know  now  that  I  love  you/' 

She  whispered  the  words  softly  through  lips  which 
were  still  warm  with  the  memory  of  Gregory's  kiss. 
Hope  surged  into  her  heart.  God  was  good.  Breath 
ing  a  prayer  for  the  safety  of  the  man  she  loved,  she 
caught  up  her  rifle  and  sat  down  to  wait. 

The  men  from  the  launch  landed  silently  on  the 
beach  and  hid  the  skiff  among  the  rocks.  Then  they 
followed  the  Mexican  up  the  trail.  Crawling  through 


UNDER  ORDERS  321 

the  brush,  they  halted  at  length  at  their  guide's  direc 
tion. 

"From  the  top  of  the  hill,"  he  whispered,  "the 
devil  speaks." 

Billings  caught  the  Mexican  by  the  arm. 

"Come,"  he  said.  "Lead  the  way  and  the  devil 
will  speak  no  longer." 

When  the  sheep-herder's  shack  loomed  across  their 
path,  Slade  commanded  a  halt.  Then  he  gave  orders 
to  surround  the  building.  As  the  men  drew  near  the 
cabin  the  door  opened  suddenly  and  a  man  stepped 
out.  Before  he  could  close  the  door,  Slade  and 
Hawkins  were  upon  him.  Gregory  and  Billings 
darted  for  the  open  doorway  as  the  light  disappeared 
from  within.  From  the  fog-shrouded  cabin  came  the 
sound  of  muffled  blows,  the  quick  breathing  of  men, 
the  rasp  of  feet  upon  the  creaking  floor.  A  choking 
cry  died  away  into  silence.  Silence  broken  after  a 
moment  by  a  sharp  click.  Then  another.  Slade 
relighted  the  lamp  and  turned  to  examine  the  two 
white-faced  men  w^ho  lay  handcuffed  on  the  floor. 

"Look  like  'snowbirds/ "  he  said.  "The  two  of 
them  haven't  the  strength  of  one  healthy  cat." 

Passing  the  men  over  to  Billings  with  instructions 
to  search  them,  he  walked  to  the  radio  switchboard 
and  examined  it  carefully. 

"They've  got  a  regular  set  just  the  same,"  he  said 
half-admiringly.  "They  could  reach  Encinitas  with 
this  one  all  right." 


322  EL  DIABLO 

Seating  himself  on  a  stool  by  the  board  he  placed 
his  hand  on  the  key. 

"I'm  going  to  try  to  get  the  Bennington"  he  said. 

Billings  nodded.  "She  ought  to  be  close  along 
shore  by  now,"  he  answered.  "If  they  left  when  they 
said  they  would." 

While  the  search  went  on  the  radio  spluttered 
spasmodically.  Finding  nothing  of  value  on  the 
persons  of  his  captives,  Billings  bared  the  arms  of  the 
two  men  and  scrutinized  the  flesh  intently  in  the 
yellow  lamplight. 

"Snowbirds,"  he  announced.  "One  of  them's 
punctured  up  one  side  and  down  the  other.  Other's 
not  so  bad.  Good  business  I'd  say  for  them  to  get  hold 
of  a  couple  of  fellows  like  these.  They're  about  the 
only  ones  they  could  get  to  stick  in  a  God-forsaken 
hole  like  this  and  keep  their  mouths  shut." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke  and  began  to  move  slowly 
about  the  room. 

"Tell  the  Mexican  to  keep  a  good  lookout  outside," 
he  instructed  Hawkins.  "Then  you  and  your  friend 
can  help  me  go  through  the  shack." 

Gregory  assisted  mechanically  in  the  search  but 
with  little  interest.  The  sooner  they  were  through 
the  sooner  they  would  go  down  to  the  cove  where  the 
Gray  Ghost  lay  at  anchor.  Then  he  would  find 
Mascola.  A  muttered  exclamation  from  Hawrkins 
caused  him  to  look  up  quickly. 

The  newspaperman  was  handing  Billings  a  cigar- 
shaped  capsule  half  filled  with  a  coarse  white  powder. 


UNDER  ORDERS  323 

"What's  this,  Jack?"  he  asked.  "Looks  like 
sugar.  Found  it  in  the  grub-locker." 

Billings  poured  the  contents  of  the  capsule  into  the 
palm  of  his  hand.  For  a  moment  he  scrutinized  it 
intently.  "That's  the  stuff  we're  looking  for,"  he  said 
quietly.  "Though  I  never  saw  it  in  a  package  like 
that  before." 

Slade  held  up  a  hand  for  silence  and  pulled  his 
head-set  closer  about  his  ears.  For  a  moment  his 
attention  was  held  by  the  instrument.  Then  his  hand 
again  sought  the  key.  When  the  sputtering  of  the 
radio  had  died  away  he  announced: 

"Got  the  Bennington.  She's  about  a  mile  off 
the  goose-neck.  They're  going  to  land  in  the  next 
cove.  The  Gray  Ghost's  at  anchor  now  off  the  isthmus 
cove.  Mascola's  speed-boat  passed  them  in  the  fog 
about  an  hour  ago.  He's  lying  in  somewhere  farther 
down." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke  and  began  to  wreck  the  radio 
set. 

"Tie  those  fellows  up  good,  Jack,"  he  instructed 
Billings.  "We  don't  want  to  be  bothered  with  them 
down  below.  We've  got  to  be  on  our  way.  The  boys 
will  be  there  by  the  time  we  get  down  the  hill. 
What's  that  you've  got  there  ?" 

Billings  extended  the  capsule  and  Slade  examined 
it  curiously. 

"Queer  package,"  he  said.  "But  it's  the  straight 
dope." 


324  EL  DIABLO 

Hawkins'  eyes  shone  with  excitement  as  he 
crowded  closer  to  Slade.  "What  is  it,  Tom?"  he 
asked. 

"Heroin,"  answered  Slade  quickly.  "A  refined 
product  of  opium.  Never  saw  it  put  up  like  this  before 
though.  When  we  hit  the  beach  maybe  we'll  learn 
the  idea." 

Beckoning  Gregory  to  his  side,  Slade  took  from 
his  pocket  a  deputy  shield  of  the  United  States  Cus 
toms  and  pinned  it  on  the  young  man's  vest. 

"For  your  own  protection,"  he  explained.  Then 
he  added:  "You  must  act  entirely  under  my  orders 
from  now  on,  Mr.  Gregory.  Do  only  what  I  tell  you. 
Nothing  more.  You  have  been  in  the  service  of  the 
government  before.  You  know  what  it  means." 

A  few  moments  later  the  four  men  followed  the 
Mexican  down  the  trail  leading  to  the  goose-neck. 

Under  orders.  Do  only  what  I  tell  you.  Nothing 
more.  The  words  echoed  in  Gregory's  mind.  Slade 
did  not  understand.  Mascola  was  to  the  revenue  man 
only  one  of  many.  A  man  to  be  arrested  and  tried. 
Perhaps  acquitted  6n  a  mere  technicality  of  law  or  a 
perjured  alibi.  Slade  c'd  not  know  the  Italian.  Had 
Dickie  Lang  not  said  that  Mascola  laughed  at  the 
courts  ?  Gregory's  jaw  set  tighter  as  he  descended  the 
trail.  Tonight,  orders  or  no  orders,  he  would  bring 
Mascola  to  justice  by  the  law  of  the  sea. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE   FIGHT  IN    THE   CAVE 

YV7ITH  the  sands  of  the  sea-beach  gritting  beneath 
^*  their  feet,  Slade  ordered  a  halt  and  conferred 
with  the  Mexican.  Then  he  whispered  to  Billings : 
"This  is  the  isthmus  bay  where  I  told  the  men  to  land. 
I  know  where  I  am  now  all  right.  Around  the  next 
point  is  the  goose-neck.  The  cave  Joe  speaks  of  is  at 
the  far  end  of  the  cove.  It  has  two  entrances,  one 
from  the  bluff  and  one  from  the  beach.  Jack  Smith's 
been  in  it.  I'm  going  to  send  him  ahead.  Take  a 
look  for  the  landing  boats  down  by  the  water." 

Billings  disappeared  on  the  instant  and  a  moment 
later  rejoined  his  chief. 

"Everything's  O.  K.,"  he  announced.  'The  men 
have  landed  and  are  standing  by  for  instructions." 

"Tell  them  to  carry  the  dingeys  clear  of  the  tide 
and  join  me  here,"  Slade  directed.  "Send  one  boat 
back  to  the  Bennington  and  h^ye  the  skipper  move  her 
around  to  the  goose-neck  in  ten  minutes.  Tell  him  to 
nail  anything  that's  at  anchor  in  the  cove." 

Billings  returned  in  a  few  minutes  accompanied 
by  the  men  from  the  revenue  cutter.  Silently  they 
grouped  themselves  about  their  chief  and  waited  for 
instructions. 

325 


326  EL  DIABLO 

Gregory  crowded  closer  and  listened  while  Slade 
gave  the  men  their  orders.  The  deputies  were  to  be 
divided.  A  few  of  the  best  trained  men,  familiar  witH 
the  local  topography,  were  to  scout  on  in  advance, 
entering  the  cave  from  the  bluff-side.  The  others 
were  to  move  along  the  beach,  surround  the  main: 
entrance  and  cut  off  escape  to  the  water.  All  were  to 
challenge  once.  Then  shoot  to  kill. 

Slade  selected  his  men  carefully.  When  he  came 
to  Gregory  he  said :  "Stay  with  the  main  body  on  the 
beach." 

It  was  in  Gregory's  mind  to  argue.  Slade  was 
throwing  him  into  the  discard.  What  chance  would 
he  have  of  finding  Mascola  at  the  main  entrance  to  the 
cave?  The  leader  of  the  advance  was  already  mar 
shaling  his  men  about  him. 

Gregory  found  Hawkins  and  the  two  men  walked 
away  from  the  others,  whispering  together.  Hawkins 
returned  alone.  When  the  advance  party  had  left 
Slade  checked  up  the  men  who  remained. 

"I'm  a  man  short,"  he  announced.  "What  became 
of  Mr.  Gregory?  I  told  him  to  stay  here." 

Hawkins  shook  his  head  blankly  when  questioned 
concerning  the  sudden  disappearance  of  his  friend. 
Gregory  might  have  misunderstood.  It  was  not  like 
him  to  disobey  orders.  In  any  case  Slade  need  not 
worry.  His  ex-captain  was  used  to  scouting  and  had 
received  many  citations  during  the  war  for  crossing 
the  enemy's  lines.  Gregory  would  be  a  help  to  the 
advance  if  he  had  gone  with  them,  Hawkins  stoutly] 


THE  FIGHT  IN  THE  CAVE  327 

maintained.  Then  he  lied  earnestly :  "He  knows  that 
cave  like  a  book." 

Joining  the  men  detailed  to  enter  the  cave  in 
advance,  when  they  reached  the  top  of  the  bluff,  Greg 
ory  reported  to  the  officer  in  charge. 

"Mr.  Slade  sent  me  to  join  you,"  he  said.  "I 
brought  him  over  from  Legonia  in  my  launch." 

Jack  Smith  hesitated.  "All  right,"  he  muttered 
after  a  moment.  "Slade's  the  boss.  Take  off  that 
slicker.  It'll  catch,  on  the  brush.  Follow  after  the 
others  and  stay  close.  Don't  do  anything  until  I  tell 
you." 

His  manner  was  curt  and  plainly  showed  that  he 
was  not  pleased  with  the  latest  addition  to  the  party. 
But  Kenneth  Gregory  cared  little  for  that.  If  the 
Gray  Ghost  was  at  the  goose-neck,  the  chances  were 
that  Mascola  would  be  in  the  cave.  And  Mascola  must 
be  given  no  chance  to  escape. 

As  he  followed  after  the  others  down  the  winding 
sheep-trail,  before  Gregory's  eyes  flashed  a  vision  of 
his  father's  battered  face  staring  up  at  him  from  the 
canvas  bundle  on  the  hatch.  Then  came  the  memory 
of  Mascola's  insolent  look  of  triumph  when  he  had  first 
beheld  Richard  Gregory's  son  on  the  wharf  at 
Legonia.  Why  had  he  not  seen  and  understood  before 
this? 

But  then,  he  had  had  no  proof.  He  reflected  bit 
terly  that  he  had  no  proof  now.  Only  a  Mexican's 
unsupported  word  that  Mascola  had  stood  by  while  his 
father  and  Bill  Lang  were  murdered  by  his  men. 


328  EL  DIABLO 

That  was  not  enough.  Mascola  might  be  convicted  of 
smuggling  but  he  would  go  clear  on  the  charge  of 
murder. 

Gregory  shook  his  head  slowly  in  the  darkness. 
No,  Mascola  would  not  go  clear.  He  would  choke  a 
confession  from  the  Italian  with  his  own  hands. 
Somewhere  below  him  in  the  fog,  a  girl  waited  for 
him  to  bring  back  her  father's  murderer.  The  girl  he 
loved,  had  always  loved,  but  had  never  known  it 
before  to-night.  If  he  failed,  he  could  never  face 
Dickie  Lang  again.  But  he  would  not  fail. 

His  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  the  sound  of 
sharp  scuffling  ahead.  Rushing  down  the  trail  he 
came  upon  the  deputies  struggling  with  two  men  in  the 
bottom  of  a  small  ravine.  As  he  assisted  the  revenue 
men  in  securing  their  captives,  he  heard  Smith  whis 
per:  "Down  the  gulch,  men.  Take  it  easy.  It's 
steep.  Stay  with  these  fellows,  Joe." 

The  air  which  sucked  through  the  ravine  grew 
colder  as  they  descended.  Then  the  dank  atmosphere 
became  strongly  permeated  with  the  odor  of  fish. 
Gregory  felt  a  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"Go  last,"  Smith  order.  "Watch  the  others. 
Do  what  they  do.  No  more." 

Foot  by  foot,  the  men  wormed  their  way  over  the 
dry  sticks  which  choked  the  entrance  to  the  cave. 
Then  Smith  ordered  a  halt. 

Leaving  a  half  dozen  men  at  the  entrance  he 
instructed  them :  "Watch  this  outlet.  When  you  hear 
a  shot  inside,  light  the  signal  flares  and  throw  them 


THE  FIGHT  IN  THE  CAVE  329 

inside.  Then  you  can  see  anybody  that  tries  to  get  by 
you.  They're  going  to  do  the  same  thing  at  the  main 
entrance."  Beckoning  Gregory  and  the  two  remain 
ing  deputies  to  his  side,  he  said:  "We'll  go  on  into 
the  cave.  Keep  close  behind  me.  When  I  give  the 
signal  by  calling  on  them  to  give  themselves  up,  each 
one  of  you  pick  a  man  and  hang  to  him.  They  haven't 
a  chance  of  getting  out  with  both  entrances  lit  up  and 
guarded.  Come  on." 

The  carpet  of  dried  sea-grass  thrown  up  by  the 
high  tides,  deadened  their  footsteps  as  they  crawled 
into  the  cave.  For  an  instant  they  crept  on  through 
the  darkness.  Then  a  twist  in  the  pathway  brought 
a  faint  gleam  of  light  ahead.  Smith  flattened  to  the 
kelp  and  wriggled  nearer  with  the  two  men  behind  him 
following  close.  Gregory  was  the  last  to  reach  the 
surface  of  a  table-like  ledge  of  rock  which  ribbed  their 
path  and  projected  outward  over  the  cavern.  Crawl 
ing  abreast  of  the  deputies,  he  raised  slowly  to  his 
elbow  and  looked  down. 

The  floor  of  the  cave  lay  only  a  few  feet  below, 
faintly  discernible  in  the  yello\v  light  \vhich  issued 
rom  a  hooded  lantern.  Gregory's  eyes  searched  the 
grotesque  shadows  which  fell  athwart  the  rocky  floor. 
Were  there  no  men  in  the  cave? 
For  an  instant  no  sound  broke  the  stillness.  Then, 
:rom  the  darkness  beyond  the  lantern,  came  the  shuf- 
:ling  of  footsteps  and  three  fishermen  stepped  out  into 
he  circle  of  light  and  dropped  to  their  knees  on  the 
rocky  floor. 


330  EL  DIABLO 

Gregory's  eyes  opened  wider.  The  cavern  floor 
was  literally  covered  with  fish.  As  he  sought  to 
fathom  the  strange  actions  of  the  fishermen  as  they 
passed  silently  up  and  down  the  long  rows  of  albacore, 
the  silence  was  broken  by  an  angry  snarl  and  the  figure 
of  another  man  leaped  out  from  the  shadow.  Rush 
ing  upon  one  of  the  fishermen,  he  shook  him  roughly 
by  the  arm.  Then  the  rays  of  the  lantern  fell  upon  his 
face. 

Gregory's  automatic  was  in  his  hand  as  he  caught 
sight  of  Mascola.  Holding  the  weapon  close  against 
his  coat  to  muffle  the  click  of  the  hammer,  he  cocked 
the  revolver  and  shoved  it  forward  over  the  ledge. 
For  an  instant  the  muzzle  wavered,  then  drew  steadily 
upward  until  the  sights  were  in  line  with  Mascola's 
waistband.  What  an  easy  shot  it  was.  He  couldn't 
miss.  What  was  the  matter  with  his  trigger  finger? 
His  arm  slowly  relaxed.  He  couldn't  shoot  the  man 
from  the  dark. 

He'd  shoot  you  quick  enough. 

I  know  he  would,  but 

He  murdered  your  father.  He  didn't  give  him  a 
chance,  did  he? 

There  was  logic  in  that.  The  arm  which  held  the 
automatic  stiffened.  The  eyes  which  glinted  over  the 
sights,  grew  hard,  then  closed  to  blot  out  the  hated 
visage.  When  they  opened  again,  the  temptation  had 
passed  and  Mascola  was  walking  again  to  the  shadow. 

From  the  ledge  above  the  cave  a  bright  ray  of 


THE  FIGHT  IN  THE  CAVE  331 

light  followed  the  figure  of  the  Italian.  Mascola 
leaped  to  cover  behind  a  huge  rock. 

The  same  instant  the  roar  of  a  pistol  shot  deafened 
Gregory's  ear.  As  Smith  fired  into  the  air  to  give  the 
signal  to  the  men  without,  he  cried.  "Hands  up,  men. 
You're  prisoners  of  the  United  States." 

The  flash-light  fell  from  the  deputy's  hand  as  an 
answering  shot  echoed  from  the  darkness  across  the 
the  cave.  Smith  rolled  to  his  side.  "Nail  'em,"  he 
gasped,  and  tumbled  from  the  ledge. 

Gregory  slid  from  the  rocks  and  stumbled  to  the 
fish-covered  floor  of  the  cavern.  The  light  from  the 
lantern  was  suddenly  extinguished.  Dropping  to  his 
knee,  he  shot  at  the  flash  of  a  gun  ahead.  Dimly  to 
his  ears  came  the  shouts  of  the  posse  fighting  their 
way  into  the  cave.  Soon  the  vaulted  walls  reverber 
ated  with  the  rattle  of  firearms  and  the  darkness  was 
faintly  illumined  by  the  light  of  the  signal  flares  burn 
ing  at  the  entrances. 

Brought  into  bold  relief  by  the  weird  glow  from 
the  sputtering  candles,  a  number  of  darting  figures 
could  be  seen  leaping  to  cover  behind  the  rocks.  From 
the  shadows  came  bright  jets  of  flame.  Bullets 
whined  through  the  cavern,  clipping  the  walls  and 
rattling  the  pebbles  to  the  stone  floor.  Flattening  his 
body  against  the  slimy  fish,  Gregory  wriggled  foot  by 
foot  in  the  direction  of  the  big  rock  which  sheltered 
Mascola. 

The  game  was  up.    Bandrist  emptied  his  revolver 


332  EL  DIABLO 

in  the  direction  of  the  advancing  deputies  and  drew 
cautiously  away  from  Mascola.  The  Fuor  d' Italia  lay 
at  anchor  in  the  cove  beyond  the  goose-neck.  The 
tunnel-like  passage,  which  only  himself  knew,  would 
lead  him  to  the  beach.  While  the  Italian  delayed  the 
attacking  party  would  be  his  chance  to  take  to  the 
boat.  In  the  fog  he  could  make  his  escape.  By  day 
break  he  could  make  the  Mexican  coast.  Then  he  would 
be  safe.  Of  Mascola  he  thought  but  little,  save  as  a 
means  to  an  end.  It  would  serve  the  Italian  right. 

Mascola  faced  about  a  few  minutes  later  to  find 
himself  fighting  alone.  Then  he  heard  the  rattle  of 
loose  stones  dropping  from  the  cavern  wall.  Baii- 
drist  was  leaving  him.  The  Italian's  blood  warmed  at 
the  islander's  treachery.  Did  Bandrist  think  he  was 
the  only  one  who  knew  the  way  out?  His  anger 
mounted  as  he  climbed  the  wall  and  wormed  his  way 
through  the  narrow  opening.  So  Bandrist  thought  to 
give  him  the  slip,  did  he?  Well,  he'd  show  him. 

When  Bandrist  reached  the  end  of  the  tunnel  he 
crawled  out  into  the  fog  and  listened  intently.  Some 
one  was  following  from  the  cave.  Jamming  a  fresh 
clip  into  his  automatic  he  waited.  Then  he  silently 
replaced  his  revolver.  A  shot  would  only  draw  pur 
suit.  Perhaps  there  were  men  already  guarding  the 
secret  exit.  Huddling  close  to  the  cavern  tunnel  he 
waited  for  the  figure  of  the  man  behind  him  to 
emerge. 

When  Mascola  reached  the  end  of  the  tunnel  he  felt 
himself  grasped  roughly  by  the  ami  and  twisted  to  the 


THE  FIGHT  IN  THE  CAVE  333 

rocks.     Bandrist  recovered  his  wits  quickly  when  he 
recognized  the  Italian. 

"Quiet,"  he  whispered.  "You  were  a  long  time 
coming.  There  may  be  men  on  the  beach  already. 
Where  is  your  boat?" 

Mascola  nodded  his  head  in  the  direction  of  the 
beach. 

"My  skiff  lies  close  to  rocks  by  the  point,"  he  said. 
"The  launch  is  close  by." 

Bandrist  fingered  his  automatic  nervously. 

""We  can  wait  no  longer,"  he  said. 

As  he  spoke  he  began  to  crawl  forward  toward  the 
water. 

The  blue  light  from  the  signal  flares  flickered 
about  the  rock  behind  which  Mascola  had  gone  into  hid 
ing.  Gregory  reached  the  shadow,  revolver  in  hand. 
Raising  his  body  to  his  elbow,  he  leaned  forward  and 
looked  up.  The  space  which  lay  between  the  rock  and 
the  cavern  wall  was  empty.  He  was  on  his  feet  in  an 
instant.  Mascola  had  escaped.  That  much  was  clear, 
But  how?  Surely  not  through  the  main  entrance  to 
the  beach.  He  wrould  have  no  chance  that  way.  The 
sound  of  the  tumult  at  the  mouth  of  the  cavern  told 
him  that.  Neither  could  the  Italian  have  taken  the 
other  passage.  He  would  have  seen  him  as  he  passed. 

He  searched  the  floor  carefully  for  a  possible  hid 
ing-place  which  would  shelter  the  man  he  sought. 
Then  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the  cave  wall.  It  was  lined 
with  irregular  niches,  some  of  which  might  be  large 


334  EL  DIABLO 

enough  to  hide  the  body  of  a  man.  In  the  faint  glow 
from  the  signal  flares,  he  climbed  slowly  upward  until 
he  felt  a  cool  rush  of  air  fan  his  cheek.  The  air  was 
heavy  with  fog;  laden  with  the  breath  of  the  sea. 
The  cavern  held  still  another  entrance. 

Forcing  his  body  through  a  cleft  in  the  rocks  from 
whence  the  breeze  came,  he  found  himself  in  a  tunnel- 
like  passage.  The  dry  sticks  snapped  beneath  his  feet 
as  he  felt  his  way  through  the  impenetrable  darkness, 
stopping  at  intervals  to  listen. 

That  Mascola  had  preceded  him  only  a  few  minutes 
before,  he  felt  reasonably  certain.  By  the  time  he 
reached  the  end  of  the  passage  the  Italian  might  have 
gained  a  place  of  safety.  Why  had  he  not  jumped 
from  the  ledge  at  first  sight  of  his  father's  murderer? 
By  now  it  would  all  be  over.  His  thoughts  turned 
quickly  to  Dickie  Lang.  Perhaps  the  Gray  Ghost 
might  have  come  upon  the  Richard's  anchorage  in  the 
cove  adjoining  the  goose-neck.  Perhaps  the  speed 
boat  had  been  run  down.  Would  the  girl  do  as  she 
was  told  and  stay  on  the  launch? 

His  mind  a  prey  to  conflicting  thoughts  and  emo 
tions,  Gregory  crawled  on  through  the  darkness. 

When  Bandrist  and  Mascola  reached  the  Fuor 
d' Italia,  the  Italian  kicked  the  dory  adrift  as  the  two 
men  climbed  aboard.  "Pull  the  hook,"  he  cried, 
"while  I  start  the  motor." 

"No,"  Bandrist  whispered.  "You'd  be  a  fool  to 
do  that.  The  cave  was  filled  with  revenue  men.  That 


THE  FIGHT  IN  THE  CAVE  335 

means  there's  a  cutter  lying  in  around  here  some 
where.  Perhaps  at  the  goose-neck.  She  would  spot 
you  in  a  minute  with  her  search.  We  must  row  the 
launch  around  the  next  point  at  least." 

Mascola  growled  his  resentment  at  Bandrist's  air 
of  authority.  Nevertheless  he  saw  the  wisdom  of  the 
suggestion  and  hastily  brought  out  the  long  ash  oars 
and  fastened  them  in  the  brass  locks.  Bandrist  pulled 
the  anchor  and  took  his  place  at  one  of  the  sweeps. 
For  some  moments  the  two  men  rowed  silently  into 
the  fog.  Then  the  islander  ceased  his  labor  at  the  oar 
abruptly. 

"Head  out/'  he  whispered.  "There's  a  launch 
ahead." 

Mascola's  eyes  sought  to  pierce  the  fog  where  the 
dim  outline  of  a  motor-boat  loomed  dark  across  their 
course.  Then  he  swung  the  Fuor  d'ltdia  about  and 
skirting  the  point  rowed  doggedly  away  from  the 
darkened  stranger. 

The  Italian's  ugly  temper  was  not  bettered  by  the 
physical  exercise.  There  was  no  need  to  row  the 
launch  as  far  as  this.  If  Bandrist  was  going  with 
him,  he  must  learn  he  was  to  be  only  a  passenger. 
The  Fuor  d'ltalia  did  not  belong  to  Rock  and  the 
islander.  She  was  his  own  property.  He  would  run 
her  where  he  pleased  and  as  he  pleased.  As  he 
labored,  he  formulated  his  plans. 

He  would  head  straight  for  the  Mexican  line, 
keeping  well  out  to  escape  the  patrol  off  San  Juan. 
Daybreak  would  put  him  in  the  little  lagoon  beyond 


336  EL  DIABLO 

Encinitas.  There  he  would  be  among  friends.  He 
reflected  suddenly  that  he  had  but  little  money. 
American  gold  in  Lower  California  would  buy  much. 
Without  it,  even  his  friends  would  give  him  but  scant 
comfort.  Bandrist,  he  remembered,  never  trusted  his 
money  to  banks,  but  paid  his  bills  in  yellow  gold  which 
he  carried  in  the  coin  belt  about  his  waist. 

The  observation  gave  Mascola  comfort.  Bandrist 
had  enough  for  them  both.  He  would  see  that  he 
received  his  share. 

He  ceased  rowing. 

"Far  enough,"  he  muttered. 

"No." 

Bandrist's  reply  was  sharp  and  decisive. 

"Your  exhaust  can  be  heard  for  miles,"  he  said. 
"The  wind  is  blowing*  in  our  faces.  We  must  keep  at 
the  oars.  Then  they  will  think  us  still  on  the  island. 
If  you  start  the  motor  now  you'll  bring  pursuit." 

Mascola's  hatred  of  Bandrist  increased  with  the 
quiet  tone  of  command  with  which  the  islander  spoke. 

"There  is  no  boat  that  can  catch  mine  with  this 
lead,"  he  bragged. 

"Mr.  Gregory's  boat  is  faster  than  yours  for  one/' 
Bandrist  disputed  quietly.  "The  new  revenue  cutters 
are  faster  for  others.  \Vhy  are  you  a  fool  ?" 

A  hot  argument  began  on  the  instant  between  the 
two  men.  An  argument  which  ended  by  Bandrist's 
knocking  Mascola  to  the  cockpit. 

Mascola  lay  where  he  fell  for  a  moment,  dazed  by 
the  blow.  Bandrist  was  not  rowing  he  noticed. 


THE  FIGHT  IN  THE  CAVE  337 

Without  doubt  he  had  him  covered  with  his  revolver. 
Fuming  with  impotent  rage,  the  Italian  growled : 
"Well,  you're  the  boss.  It's  up  to  you." 

As  he  struggled  to  his  feet  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
get  square  with  the  islander.  Again  resuming  his  oars, 
he  rowed  steadily  until  Bandrist  gave  the  order  to 
start  the  motor. 

The  Fuor  d'ltalia  leaped  forward  and  the  cool  sea 
air  fanned  Mascola's  flaming  face.  Settling  quietly 
into  his  seat  he  turned  his  attention  to  the  wheel. 

He  could  afford  to  wait,  but  only  a  little  longer. 

Dickie  Lang  grasped  her  rifle  tighter  and  leaned 
over  the  rail  as  she  heard  the  soft  dip  of  oars.  Then 
her  hold  on  the  gun  relaxed.  Perhaps  it  was  Gregory 
returning  to  the  launch. 

A  glance  into  the  gloom  to  starboard  caused  her  to 
drop  silently  into  the  cockpit.  Resting  the  rifle  on 
the  coaming  she  covered  the  approaching  boat  and 
waited  in  silence.  To  her  ears  came  the  low  murmur 
of  men's  voices.  Then  the  oncoming  craft  veered 
sharply  and  faded  from  view.  For  some  time  the  girl 
crouched  upon  the  floor  of  the  launch.  At  length  the 
silence  of  the  night  was  broken  by  the  far-off  pulsing 
of  a  high-speed  motor. 

She  jumped  to  her  feet,  her  eyes  glowing  with 
excitement.  Even  at  the  distance  she  could  not  be 
deceived.  There  was  only  one  other  craft  about  with 
an  exhaust  like  that. 


338  EL  DIABLO 

Mascola  was  fleeing  from  Diablo  in  the  Fuor 
d'ltalia. 

She  sprang  to  the  hood  and  began  pulling  on  the 
anchor-chain.  Then  she  stopped  suddenly.  The  man 
she  loved  was  still  on  the  island.  Perhaps  he  had 
been  wounded.  Maybe  killed.  And  in  the  meantime, 
Mascola  was  escaping.  For  an  instant  love  and  hate 
fought  for  possession  of  the  heart  of  Dickie  Lang. 
Then  the  chain  slipped  through  her  fingers  and  the 
anchor  dropped  again  to  the  bottom.  Silently  she 
returned  to  the  wheel  and  sat  down  to  wait.  It  was 
the  hardest  part  of  all  to  play.  And  it  always  fell  to 
a  woman. 

When  Gregory  reached  the  end  of  the  tunnel  he 
could  hear  the  shouts  of  men  and  the  rapid  discharge 
of  firearms  from  around  the  point.  He  must  be  in 
the  cove  adjoining  the  goose-neck.  Crawling  rapidly 
through  the  brush  he  gained  the  beach.  Then  he 
stopped  and  listened.  Mascola  had  evidently  taken  to 
the  water. 

A  sudden  fear  gripped  his  heart  at  the  thought  and 
sent  him  racing  down  the  beach  in  the  direction  of  the 
Richard's  dory.  His  fears  for  the  girl's  safety  abated 
as  he  found  the  dory  undisturbed  among  the  rocks. 
Shoving  it  into  the  water  he  rowed  hastily  for  the 
launch.  As  the  skiff  scraped  the  Richard's  side,  he 
sprang  aboard  and  caught  the  girl  in  his  arms.  For  an 
instant  love  alone  dominated  his  heart. 

"Mascola  escaped  in  the  Fuor  d'ltalia." 


THE  FIGHT  IN  THE  CAVE  339 

Dickie's  words  recalled  Gregory  to  his  purpose. 
The  next  instant  he  was  pulling  at  the  chain. 

"I'll  take  you  around  the  point  to  the  cutter,"  he 
called  to  her  as  he  worked.  "You'll  be  safe  there 
until " 

"No."  The  girl's  answer  was  spoken  with  a 
determination  there  was  no  gainsaying.  "I'm  going 
with  you,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "There  were  two 
men  in  the  launch." 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

BENEATH    THE    WATERS 

A  S  THE  Richard  cleared  the  point  and  plunged 
•**  into  trough  of  the  swell,  a  thin  column  of  light 
filtered  through  the  fog  astern  and  traveled  slowly 
over  the  gray  water. 

Gregory  put  the  wheel  over  and  began  to  zigzag 
as  he  remembered  that  the  Bennington  was  lying  in  at 
the  goose-neck.  At  the  distance  the  revenue  cutter 
would  be  unable  to  distinguish  friend  from  foe  and 
would  take  no  chances. 

"Stay  down,"  he  called  to  Dickie.  "It's  the  search 
from  the  Bennington.  They  may  shoot." 

The  light  moved  shoreward  as  he  spoke,  carefully 
searching  the  rocks  which  fringed  the  coast.  Gregory 
threw  the  wheel  in  the  opposite  direction  and  struck 
out  at  a  tangent  toward  the  sea.  His  speed  would 
soon  carry  him  beyond  rifle  range.  Kicking  open  the 
cut-out,  he  advanced  the  throttle.  The  Richard  shook 
with  the  sudden  burst  of  power,  then  began  to  plane. 

Gregory  kept  his  eyes  on  the  moving  rays  as  he 
held  the  launch  on  her  seaward  tack.  The  light  was 
moving  nearer,  but  its  beams  were  paling.  The  cutter 
evidently  had  not  moved  from  her  anchorage.  Doubt- 

340 


BENEATH  THE  WATERS  341 

less  she  would  be  kept  fully  occupied  at  the  goose-neck. 
The  next  instant  the  fog-wall  ahead  dripped  in  the  rays 
of  the  searchlight. 

Gregory's  hand  flashed  to  the  spark  as  his  foot 
released  the  throttle.  The  angry  roar  of  the  speed 
boat  died  away  on  the  instant  and  the  hull  dropped 
sullenly.  Putting  about,  he  started  shoreward  at  right 
angles  to  his  former  course. 

The  whine  of  machine-gun  bullets  sounded  over  his 
head  to  the  starboard.  Then  the  leaden  hail  was 
drowned  by  the  bark  of  the  open  exhaust. 

He  had  done  the  right  thing  that  time.  To  have 
tried  to  dodge  at  speed  would  have  turned  the  Richard 
over.  Now  he  was  safe  for  a  few  seconds  at  least  he 
reflected,  as  he  watched  the  light  traveling  over  his 
former  course. 

As  the  rays  again  bent  shoreward  he  saw  a  long 
point  projecting  out  into  the  sea.  Beyond  the  jutting 
promontory  he  would  be  safe.  Running  a  course 
which  would  carry  him  clear  of  the  point  by  a  narrow 
margin  he  settled  low  in  his  seat  and  dashed  forward. 

The  fog-dimmed  light  hovered  about  the  point  as 
the  Richard  plunged  boldly  into  the  focus  of  its  drip 
ping  beams.  As  the  launch  veered  to  make  the  turn, 
the  waters  astern  were  splashed  by  the  steel  pellets 
from  the  Bennington's  machine-gun.  Then  the  gun 
ner  of  the  revenue  cutter  began  to  raise  his  sights. 
Splinters  flew  from  the  Richard's  stern.  The  coam 
ing  was  riddled  as  the  deadly  hail  moved  toward  the 
bow. 


342  EL  DIABLO 

The  gunner  on  the  Bennington  ceased  grinding 
as  the  launch  disappeared  behind  the  point. 

"I  could  have  got  that  bird  in  one  more  second," 
he  muttered  ruefully.  "If  the  old  man  would  let  us 
move,  we  can  get  him  yet." 

Gregory  threw  off  the  power  and  hurdled  the  seat. 

"Are  you  hurt?"  he  called  to  Dickie  as  he  hurried 
toward  the  stern. 

Dickie  Lang  was  not  hurt.  Only  cut  by  a  flying 
splinter.  It  was  nothing.  The  girl  made  her  way 
forward. 

"Let  me  take  her  until  we  clear  the  coast,"  she 
said.  "You  gave  me  the  shivers  the  way  you  grazed 
that  reef  off  China  Point." 

As  they  inclined  their  ears  into  the  gray  mist  which 
enveloped  them,  they  caught  the  murmur  of  the  Fnor 
d' Italia' s  exhaust. 

Gregory  surrendered  the  wheel. 

The  girl  listened  to  the  rapid-fire  pulsations  of  the 
boat  ahead. 

"He's  headed  out  to  sea,"  she  said.  "And  we're 
going  to  have  to  drive  to  catch  him  with  this  lead." 

Her  words  were  drowned  in  the  thunder  of  the 
Richard's  motor  and  the  speed-launch  bounded  away 
to  overtake  her  hated  rival. 

"The  fog  is  lifting.  Soon  it  will  be  clear.  We 
must  watch  closely  for  pursuit." 

Mascola  grunted  a  reply  to  Bandrist's  observations. 
Weather  conditions  meant  very  little  to  him  at  the 


BENEATH  THE  WATERS  343 

present  moment.  His  mind  was  occupied  with  matters 
of  far  more  importance. 

It  would  be  well  to  know  just  where  Bandrist 
stood  concerning  a  division  of  his  money  before  they 
went  farther.  Now  would  be  a  good  time  to  find  out. 
He  made  the  suggestion  at  once  that  the  islander  grant 
him  an  advance  of  funds  until  such  time  as  he  could 
obtain  his  money  from  Legonia  and  Port  Angeles. 

"I  have  no  money  to  spare,"  Bandrist  answered 
curtly.  "You  are  foolish  not  to  have  been  better  pre 
pared.  Our  business  is  one  which  should  have  taught 
you  that.  You  will  have  a  hard  time  now  to  get  your 
money  from  the  States." 

An  angry  retort  welled  to  Mascola's  lips  but  he 
choked  it  back.  Bandrist  was  speaking  again. 

"Here  is  one  hundred  dollars.  You  are  welcome 
to  that.  But  no  more." 

Mascola's  eyes  flashed  at  the  smallness  of  the  sum. 
A  hundred  dollars  would  be  next  to  nothing,  even  in 
Mexico.  Bandrist,  he  felt  sure,  possessed  money  in 
plenty.  If  there  was  not  enough  for  two,  there  wrould 
be  plenty  for  one. 

Mascola  made  up  his  mind  quickly.  He  would  be 
the  one.  He  had  given  Bandrist  his  chance.  The 
islander  had  tried  twice  to-night  to  give  him  the 
double-cross.  Would  do  it  again  if  he  got  the  chance. 
But  Bandrist  would  have  no  more  chances.  Reaching 
out  his  hand,  Mascola  took  the  gold  with  muttered 
words  of  thanks.  Then  his  fingers  sought  the  switch 
and  the  noise  of  the  motor  died  suddenly  into  silence. 


344  EL  DIABLO 

"Listen/1 

Mascola  turned  quickly  in  his  seat  and  looked  over 
the  stern.  At  the  same  time  his  right  hand  sought  his 
dagger. 

Bandrist  twisted  about,  his  eyes  searching  the 
gray  waters  astern. 

"I  don't,"  he  began.  But  his  words  ended  in  a 
choking  gasp. 

Mascola's  knife  had  found  its  mark  and  the 
Italian's  fingers  were  tearing  at  Bandrist's  throat. 

The  islander  struggled  to  reach  his  gun,  but  he 
felt  his  strength  leaving  him.  The  moonlight  shim 
mered  before  his  eyes,  mingled  with  gray  splashes  of 
fog.  A  sharp  pain  laced  his  side.  His  mouth  opened 
and  he  fought  hard  for  air.  Heavy  darkness  began  to 
settle  about  him.  From  the  far-off  spaces  he  heard  the 
sound  of  rapid  breathing.  Or  was  it  the  faint  pulsing 
of  a  motor-launch?  Then  the  murmur  grew  fainter 
until  it  trailed  away  into  silence.  Mascola  pulled  the 
islander  roughly  from  the  seat  and  dragged  him  along 
the  floor  of  the  cockpit.  Then  he  sprang  to  the  wheel 
and  started  the  motor.  There  was  no  time  now  to  get 
the  money.  The  fog  was  lifting.  And  there  was  a 
boat  following. 

Clear  of  the  Diablo  reefs,  Gregory  took  the  wheel 
and  plunged  the  Richard  into  the  shifting  wall  of  fog. 
Mile  after  mile  he  traversed  in  silence,  stopping  at 
intervals  to  listen  to  the  faint  pulsing  of  the  boat 
ahead.  At  length  the  gray  canopy  lifted  slowly  from 


BENEATH  THE  WATERS  345 

the  water  and  he  caught  the  outline  of  the  Richard's 
broad  hood  rising  staunchly  above  him  in  the  gloom. 
He  smiled  grimly  at  the  sight.  The  motor  had  not 
missed  a  shot  since  leaving  the  island.  And  they  were 
overhauling  the  Fuor  d' It  alia. 

He  threw  the  switch  again  as  his  eye  caught  the 
gleam  of  the  moonlight  ahead.  For  some  moments  he 
listened  intently.  But  only  the  soft  slap  of  the  waves 
against  the  hull  of  the  launch  disturbed  the  stillness. 

Mascola  had  escaped  him;  had  noted  the  clearing 
and  heard  the  sound  of  pursuit;  had  doubled  back 
into  the  fog  bank.  Anguish  took  possession  of  his 
heart  at  the  thought  as  he  reached  for  the  switch. 
But  neither  Gregory  nor  Dickie  Lang  heard  the  rasp 
of  the  starting  mechanism.  The  sound  was  swallowed 
up  in  a  deafening  roar  which  came  from  the  moonlit 
waters  ahead. 

"Straight  ahead,"  the  girl  shouted.     "I  see  him." 

Gregory  had  already  thrown  in  the  clutch.  In  a 
swirl  of  white  water  the  Richard  raised  her  head 
proudly,  and  snorting  angry  defiance,  raced  across  the 
intervening  waves  which  separated  her  from  her 
primordial  enemy.  Gregory  saw  the  Fuor  d' Italia 
leap  forward  in  the  moonlight,  noted  that  the  craft 
had  already  changed  direction  and  was  heading  off  at 
a  tangent,  a  course  which  would  bring  Mascola  under 
cover  of  the  fog  bank. 

Veering  as  sharply  as  her  speed  would  permit,  the 
Richard  dipped  like  a  gull  and  sped  on  to  intercept 
the  Fuor  d'ltalia.  The  shifting  bank  of  blinding  mist 


346  EL  DIABLO 

hung  uncertainly  above  the  shimmering1  waters  less 
than  half  a  mile  ahead,  dead  ahead  for  Mascola,  off 
Gregory's  starboard  quarter.  For  the  Italian  it  meant 
safety.  To  his  pursuer  it  spelled  defeat. 

The  Richard  was  gaining.  Gregory  measured  the 
distance  with  a  calculating  eye.  He  was  going  to 
head  the  Italian  off. 

"Swing  her  to  port.    Catch  him  on  the  beam." 

Acting  at  once  upon  Dickie's  advice,  Gregory  saw 
the  wisdom  of  it  at  once.  His  angling  course  would 
have  put  him  into  the  fog  before  the  Fuor  d' Italia 
reached  it.  Now  he  would  catch  Mascola  broadside, 
full  on  the  beam.  Or  at  least  at  an  angle  which  would 
drive  the  heavier  hull  through  the  lighter  one. 

With  seaman's  instinct,  Mascola  sensed  rather  than 
saw  the  Richard's  change  of  course.  If  he  tried  to 
make  the  fog  he  would  be  cut  in  two.  If  he  deviated 
a  hair's  breadth  at  that  speed  he'd  turn  turtle.  There 
was  only  one  thing  he  could  do. 

He  reached  his  decision  in  a  whirl  of  the  propeller. 

Dickie  Lang  knew  his  answer. 

"Hard  a  port.     Throw  your  switch." 

The  words  tumbled  from  her  lips  in  a  piercing 
shriek.  Gregory  obeyed  on  the  second,  thinking  the 
girl  had  lost  her  reason.  The  Richard  dipped  with  a 
swerve  which  threw  him  violently  against  the  coam 
ing.  As  he  felt  the  heavy  hull  sinking  down  into  the 
water  he  saw  that  the  Fuor  df  Italia  had  ceased  to  plane 
and  was  settling  sluggishly. 

A  snarl  of  disappointment  busrt  from  Mascola's 


BENEATH  THE  WATERS  347 

lips  as  he  saw  the  Richard  did  not  flash  across  his  bow. 
A  snarl,  which  changed  quickly  to  a  cry  of  rage  as  he 
noted  that  the  two  hulls  were  drifting  sullenly  toward 
each  other.  Robbed  of  his  way,  he  could  not  escape. 
The  Richard  was  already  brushing  the  Fnor  d'ltalia's 
rail. 

In  a  frenzy  of  mingled  fear  and  rage,  Mascola 
whipped  out  his  dagger  and  leaped  to  the  cockpit  to 
battle  with  the  hurtling  figure  that  sprang  from  the 
other  boat  as  the  two  hulls  scraped.  Gregory  caught 
Mascola's  knife  arm  and  twisted  it  backward,  crowd 
ing  the  Italian  to  the  rail.  For  an  instant  the  two  men 
were  locked  in  a  swaying,  bone-racking  embrace. 
Then  Mascola  felt  the  oak  coaming  pressing  hard 
against  his  knees.  He  wras  being  shoved  over  the  rail 
by  the  fury  of  the  heavier  man. 

Struggling  in  desperation,  there  came  a  gleam  of 
hope.  In  the  water  Gregory's  superior  weight  would 
not  count.  Strength  would  not  count  so  much,  with 
out  the  weight.  But  a  knife  would  count.  Jerking 
his  body  backward,  he  lunged  downward  into  the  sea, 
dragging  his  antagonist  with  him. 

As  Gregory  and  Mascola  fell  to  the  water,  Dickie 
Lang  drew  her  automatic  and  covering  the  cockpit  of 
the  Fuor  d'ltalia  with  her  flash-light,  peered  cau 
tiously  over  the  rail.  Upon  the  floor  of  the  launch 
sprawled  the  figure  of  a  man.  His  face  was  turned 
away  from  her.  The  gray  linoleum  was  died  red  with 
his  blood.  As  she  watched  him,  his  extended  fingers 
twitched  convulsively.  He  was  still  breathing.  But 


348  EL  DIABLO 

that  was  all.  Seizing  the  rail  of  the  Fuor  d'ltalia  she 
began  to  work  the  Richard  around  the  hull  of  the 
other  craft.  She  dared  not  start  the  motor.  The 
propeller  might  cut  the  men  in  the  water  to  shreds. 
Reaching  the  stern  of  Mascola's  launch  she  directed 
the  rays  of  her  light  into  the  rippling  waves. 

Gregory  tightened  his  hold  on  Mascola's  wrist  as 
the  waters  closed  over  his  head.  The  Italian  struggled 
fiercely  to  free  his  right  arm  as  he  felt  his  body  sink 
ing  deeper  into  the  water.  Then  he  noticed  that  his 
antagonist  had  freed  his  legs  and  was  moving  them 
slowly  upward  to  his  stomach. 

Locking  his  knees  about  Mascola's  waist-line  in  a 
scissors-grip,  Gregory  began  to  squeeze.  Lashing  the 
water  with  his  feet  the  Italian  jerked  his  head  back 
ward  and  forced  it  against  Gregory's  chin.  Then  he 
freed  his  left  arm  and  the  fingers  slid  upward  to  his 
enemy's  throat. 

Under  the  steady  pressure  of  the  sturdy  legs 
about  his  waist  Mascola  felt  his  strength  going  from 
him.  With  bursting  lungs  he  tore  at  the  corded  mus 
cles  of  Gregory's  throat.  But  his  fingers  had  but  little 
power.  Sharp  pains  seared  his  eyeballs.  A  deadly 
numbness  was  creeping  over  his  entire  body.  Then 
he  felt  the  hand  which  held  his  knife  arm  twist  the 
wrist  and  forced  it  inward  to  his  body. 

Mascola  writhed  in  terror.  By  a  powerful  effort 
he  squirmed  sidewise  and  checked  the  onward  course 
of  the  knife  as  it  came  nearer  to  his  side.  The  exer 
tion  sent  the  blood  pounding  to  his  temples,  left  him 


BENEATH  THE  WATERS  349 

weak  with  nausea.  For  an  instant  his  hold  on  Greg 
ory's  throat  relaxed.  Then  his  fingers  dug  viciously 
into  the  flesh  as  he  felt  his  wrist  being  crowded  closer 
to  his  body. 

The  point  of  the  dagger  was  scratching  at  his  shirt. 
In  another  second  it  would  be  piercing  his  side. 
Mascola  knew  that  the  blade  was  sharp.  The  Italian 
released  his  grip  on  Gregory's  throat.  With  a  convul 
sive  shudder  he  dropped  his  knife.  He  was  beaten. 
At  the  mercy  of  his  enemy.  Better  take  chances  with 
the  courts  than  sure  death  at  the  hand  of  Kenneth 
Gregory. 

Gregory  felt  the  muscles  of  the  Italian  relax  in  a 
token  of  submission.  For  an  instant  his  heart  re 
belled  at  the  turn  of  the  battle  in  his  favor.  Why  not 
strangle  Mascola  beneath  the  surface?  \Vho  would 
ever  know?  The  Italian  had  shown  his  father  no 
mercy. 

Why  didn't  Mascola  fight  like  a  man? 

Gregory's  fingers  reached  the  Italian's  throat. 
The  law  of  the  sea  knew  no  mercy. 

A  feeling  of  utter  helplessness  seized  Dickie  Lang 
as  she  stared  into  the  moonlit  waters.  The  man  she 
loved  was  battling  for  his  life  beneath  the  surface  of 
the  shimmering  waves.  And  she  could  do  nothing. 

"God  bring  him  up  safe."  She  repeated  the  words 
again  and  again.  Then  a  new  fear  assailed  her. 

Kenneth  Gregory  would  never  give  up.  If  he 
came  up  at  all  there  would  be  blood  upon  his  hands. 


350  EL  DIABLO 

Justifiable  blood.  An  eye  for  an  eye.  And  yet,  as 
the  seconds  trailed  endlessly  by,  the  girl  was  surprised 
to  find  herself  amending  her  prayer. 

"Bring  him  up  safe — and  clean." 

She  uttered  a  choking  cry  as  the  bright  rays  of  her 
light  fell  upon  Kenneth  Gregory's  head.  He  was 
swimming  slowly  toward  the  launch,  dragging  Mascola 
after  him. 

"Hold  his  wrists." 

She  noted  the  lifeless  tone  of  Gregory's  voice  as 
she  made  haste  to  comply  with  the  order.  Saw  the 
fingers  of  the  two  men  clutch  the  rail  while  they 
waited  for  strength  to  pull  their  bodies  from  the  water. 

Kenneth  Gregory  pulled  himself  weakly  over  the 
coaming.  In  silence  he  assisted  the  girl  in  dragging 
Mascola  from  the  water.  Huddling  on  the  driver's 
seat  of  the  Richard,  the  Italian  leaned  against  the 
dash,  fighting  for  breath.  Gregory  stumbled  back 
ward  and  sank  to  the  floor  of  the  cockpit,  covering 
his  face  with  his  hands. 

"I — failed,"  he  gasped.  "I  had  a  chance. But 

I  passed  it  up. 1  couldn't  do  it." 

Dickie  fell  to  her  knees  beside  him  and  threw  her 
arms  about  his  neck.  "You're  a  man,"  she  whispered, 
"One  in  a  million."  Then  her  lips  found  his. 

Mascola  watched  the  two  shadows  blend  into  one. 
Silhouetted  in  the  bright  moonlight,  he  leaned  against 
the  coaming,  his  lips  curved  in  a  sneering  smile. 

From  the  darkened  cockpit  of  the  Fuor  d'ltalia 
came  a  bright  jet  of  flame.  Then  another.  Before 


The  bright  rays  of  her  light  fell  upon  Kenneth  Gregory's  head 


BENEATH  THE  WATERS  35 T 

the  echoes  of  the  two  shots  had  died  away  Mascola's 
body  slid  from  the  seat  and  fell  in  a  heap  upon  the 
floor. 

Dickie  drew  her  revolver  and  sprang  to  the  rail. 
Sweeping  the  darkness  of  the  Fuor  d'ltalia's  cockpit 
with  the  rays  of  her  light,  she  drew  back.  . 

"Bandrist,"  she  whispered  to  Gregory  through 
whitening  lips. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

FOR  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  KNOW 

CILVANUS  ROCK  was  at  the  Golden  Rule  Fish 

Cannery  at  an  early  hour  on  the  morning  follow 
ing  the  raid  upon  El  Diablo.  When  Blankovitch 
entered  the  office,  he  noted  at  a  glance  that  the  face 
of  the  capitalist  looked  drawn  and  worried. 

"Any  news,  Blankovitch?" 

The  words  tumbled  eagerly  from  Rock's  thick  lips 
as  he  caught  sight  of  the  ruddy  countenance  of  the 
manager. 

Blankovitch  shook  his  head. 

"Only  the  broken  message  a  little  before  mid 
night,"  he  answered.  "You  got  that.  Gonzolez 
landed.  That's  all  we  know." 

Rock  fidgeted  while  his  eyes  roved  about  the 
room.  "You  don't  suppose  anything  went  wrong?" 
he  hazarded  after  a  moment. 

Blankovitch  did  not  think  so.  The  wireless  had 
failed  for  some  reason  or  other.  But  it  had  done  that 
before.  He  was  expecting  Rossi  in  at  any  moment. 
There  was  no  occasion  for  worry.  Would  Mr.  Rock 
care  for  a  drink  so  early  in  the  morning?  The  bank 
president  gulped  down  the  brandy,  and  under  the  stim- 

352 


FOR  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  KNOW   353 

ulus  of  the  fiery  liquor  his  wavering-  courage  rallied 
perceptibly. 

"Had  a  bad  night,"  he  explained.  "Didn't  sleep 
a  wink.  Neuralgia." 

The  Slavonian  nodded  sympathetically  and  the  two 
men  lapsed  into  silence.  After  some  time  had  passed 
a  fisherman  entered. 

"Rossi's  coming  in/'  he  announced. 

Rock  leaped  to  his  feet  with  the  youthful  exuber 
ance  of  a  schoolboy. 

"I  feel  like  a  new  man,"  he  confided  to  Blanko- 
vitch,  when  the  messenger  had  gone  out.  "The 
brandy  was  just  what  I  needed.  Lack  of  sleep  surely 
pulls  a  man  down." 

The  manager  agreed  and  together  the  two  men 
went  out  to  the  receiving  platform  to  await  the  arrival 
of  the  boat  from  El  Diablo. 

When  Rossi  drew  alongside,  Rock  greeted  him 
effusively. 

"How  is  everything  at  the  island?"  he  asked. 
"Have  you  plenty  of  fish  ?" 

The  fishing  captain  answered  the  bank  president's 
greeting  with  his  usual  shrug. 

"Bonne,"  he  said  shortly.  "Everything's  fine.  T 
got  some  good  fish." 

Rock  was  jubilant.  His  fears  had  been  ground 
less.  Everything  was  quite  all  right.  For  had  not 
Rossi  given  the  accustomed  signal  to  that  effect? 

Blankovitch  had  already  taken  the  cue. 


354  EL  DIABLO 

"If  his  fish  are  first-class,  we  might  put  them  up 
special  for  those  A-i  orders,"  he  suggested. 

Rock  nodded  as  he  noted  the  stolid  faces  of  the 
fishermen  peering  over  the  rail.  Rossi  had  his  regular 
crew.  Still,  one  could  never  be  too  careful.  For  a 
moment  he  appeared  to  deliberate.  Then  he  said : 

"Good  idea,  Blankovitch,  we're  short  on  high- 
grade  stuff." 

The  manager  moved  at  once  to  the  receiving-vat 
and  pulled  the  grating  over  the  traveling  conveyer 
which  carried  the  fish  into  the  cannery.  Then  he 
opened  a  valve  at  the  bottom  of  the  tank. 

"All  right,  Rossi,"  he  said.    "Dump  them  in." 

Rock  stood  by  for  a  moment  watching  the  fish 
slide  into  the  vat.  Then  he  walked  away  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  cannery  office.  Passing  through  the  room 
where  he  had  conferred  with  the  Slavonian,  he  entered 
the  manager's  private  sanctuary  which  lay  beyond  and 
closed  the  door. 

In  the  far  corner  of  the  room  was  a  small  clothes- 
closet.  To  this  Rock  made  his  way  hastily,  and, 
fitting  a  key  in  the  lock,  passed  within,  slamming  the 
door  after  him.  In  the  darkness  of  the  stuffy  cubby 
hole,  his  fingers  found  a  small  flash-light  in  the  pocket 
of  an  old  vest  which  hung  from  one  of  the  hooks. 
Directing  the  rays  of  the  light  about  him,  he  worked 
his  way  through  the  hanging  garments  and  reached 
the  end  of  the  closet.  For  an  instant  his  fingers  slid 
along  the  inside  wall.  Then  a  cool  draught  of  air 


FOR  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  KNOW   355 

fanned  his  face,  strongly  tinctured  with  the  smell  of 
the  mud-flats. 

Swinging  the  panel  shut  behind  him,  Silvanus 
Rock  descended  the  narrow  stairway.  When  he 
reached  the  bottom  he  paused  and  drew  his  coat  collar 
closer  about  his  neck.  The  air  was  damp  and  cold  and 
the  waters  of  the  bay  were  lapping  softly  against  the 
pilings  which  supported  the  building. 

Grasping  the  wooden  rail  of  the  gangway  which 
led  away  from  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  the  capitalist 
crept  on  through  the  darkness  until  he  reached  the  base 
of  a  big  concrete  storage-vat.  Groping  for  the  lock 
which  secured  the  outlet-cleaning-door  of  the  big  tank, 
he  unlocked  it  and  passed  within. 

With  the  water-tight  door  closed  behind  him,  he 
switched  on  the  electric  light.  The  cement  floor  of 
the  vat  was  already  partly  covered  with  the  fish  which 
slid  downward  from  the  receiving  tanks  on  the  plat 
form  above. 

Rock  listened  intently.  But  only  the  soft  slip  of 
the  fish  through  the  chute  and  the  drip  of  the  water 
from  the  draining-table,  disturbed  the  silence.  Then 
he  heard  the  murmur  of  men's  voices  from  the  plat 
form.  The  valve  \vas  still  open.  \Vhen  Blankovitch 
closed  that,  no  sound  would  penetrate  the  vat  from 
the  outside  world. 

He  turned  his  attention  at  once  to  the  fish.  Draw 
ing  one  of  the  albacore  to  one  side,  his  fat  fingers 
delved  carefully  into  the  fish's  belly.  Then  they 
brought  forth  a  large  aluminum  capsule  and  laid  it 


356  EL  DIABLO 

carefully  on  a  tin-topped  table  which  stood  conve 
niently  near  a  small  capping-machine. 

For  some  moments  he  repeated  the  operation  until 
all  the  fish  had  been  emptied  of  their  contents  and  a 
double  row  of  capsules  covered  the  table. 

The  albacore,  he  noticed  suddenly,  had  ceased  to 
slip  through  the  chute.  He  frowned  at  the  observance. 
Surely  Rossi  had  brought  a  larger  cargo  than  this. 

Walking  again  to  the  intake  from  the  tank  above, 
he  listened.  The  valve  was  still  open.  There  would 
be  more  or  Blankovitch  would  close  the  chute  and 
assist  him  belowr.  Wiping  his  hands  carefully  on  his 
handkerchief,  he  walked  nervously  about  the  tank. 
There  was  nothing  he  could  do  but  wait.  There 
would  be  no  use  to  fill  the  cans  at  present  or  start  the 
conveyer  to  carry  the  empty-bellied  fish  to  the  cannery 
floor.  Both  would  necessitate  the  use  of  machinery, 
and  even  electric-driven  power  made  some  noise. 

If  the  Slavonian  was  through,  why  didn't  he  close 
the  valve  and  come  down?  The  door  of  the  storage- 
vat  opened  suddenly  and  Blankovitch's  bulky  figure 
staggered  within.  Rock  drew  back  at  the  expression 
on  the  Slavonian's  face.  All  color  had  fled  from  the 
manager's  ruddy  cheeks.  His  eyes  were  staring  and 
his  heavy  jaw  sagged. 

Then  Rock  noted  that  the  door  was  still  open.  As 
he  made  haste  to  close  it  before  questioning  the  fright 
ened  Slavonian,  he  found  the  way  blocked  by  three 
shadowy  figures  who  sprang  upon  him. 

"You  are  under  arrest,  Mr.  Rock." 


FOR  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  KNOW   357 

Silvanus  Rock  wriggled  vainly  in  the  arms  of  the 
men  who  forced  him  back  into  the  tank.  In  the 
struggle  the  light  fell  full  upon  the  open  vest  of  one 
of  the  strangers.  Then  Rock  collapsed. 

For  years  he  had  suffered  this  nightmare.  In  his 
troubled  dreams  he  had  seen  the  glittering  shield  of 
the  revenue  men  winking  at  him  from  the  darkness. 
Now  it  was  a  tangible  reality.  He  was  caught  with 
the  goods  through  the  Slavonian's  treachery.  Glaring 
in  sullen  anger  at  his  trembling  manager,  he  opened 
his  mouth  to  speak  but  no  word  came.  Then  one  of 
the  deputies  who  had  made  a  cursory  examination  of 
the  vat,  began  to  speak : 

"Well,  Mr.  Rock/'  he  said,  "it  kind  of  looks  like 
we  had  the  man  higher  up.  At  the  point  of  a  gun,  Mr. 
Blankovitch  showed  us  the  way  to  your  little  office 
down  here.  And  Signer  Rossi  brought  us  all  the  way 
over  from  Diablo  hidden  away  among  his  fish  so  we 
could  have  the  pleasure  of  finding  out  where  he  sold 
his  cargo.  The  little  ride  was  worth  as  much  to  him 
as  it  was  to  us." 

Turning  to  the  man  who  was  standing  by  the 
Slavonian,  he  ordered :  "Better  put  the  steals  on  him. 
Jack.  I'll  take  this  one  while  Joe  stays  down  here 
with  the  stuff." 

When  the  Bennington  entered  Crescent  Bay 
followed  by  the  Richard  towing  the  Fuor  d'ltalia, 
excitement  was  rife  at  Legonia.  And  as  the  boats 


358  EL  DIABLO 

came  to  anchor  off  the  Golden  Rule  Cannery  a  large 
crowd  of  curious  village-folk  collected  on  the  dock. 

The  consensus  of  opinion,  in  Silvanus  Rock's 
absence,  was  expressed  by  the  local  postmaster.  There 
had  been  another  fight  at  El  Diablo  and  "Uncle  Sam 
had  stepped  in  and  'pinched'  the  whole  darned  bunch." 
To  that  opinion,  the  crowd  for  the  most  part  concurred 
though  there  were  some  who  thought  otherwise. 

It  remained  for  Silvanus  Rock  himself  to  upset 
the  truth  of  the  postmaster's  statement.  Scarcely  able 
to  credit  their  sight,  the  villagers  saw  the  magnate  of 
Legonia  led  forth  from  the  Golden  Rule  Cannery  in 
the  custody  of  strangers.  Strangers  who  spoke  and 
acted  with  an  air  of  authority  and  displayed  shining 
badges  to  part  the  crowd  as  they  walked  with  their 
prisoner  to  meet  the  small  boat  from  the  cutter.  Then 
came  Blankovitch  wearing  hand-cuffs. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  truth  leaked  out 
through  the  lips  of  a  newspaperman  who  was  aboard 
the  Bennington.  Even  then  there  were  some  who 
doubted. 

Mascola  killed  by  Bandrist?  Impossible.  Bill 
Lang  and  Richard  Gregory  murdered  at  El  Diablo  and 
Mexican  Joe  who  had  been  with  them,  found  on  the 
island  ? 

Silvanus  Rock  a  smuggler?  Why  the  very  thought 
was  absurd. 

But  the  postmaster  was  gifted  with  more  sagacity. 
With  an  ear  trained  to  catch  the  slightest  drift  of 


FOR  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  KNOW      359 

public   opinion,    he   declaimed   after   hearing   all    the 
evidence : 

"I  ain't  much  surprised.  Kind  o'  had  my  suspic 
ions  of  old  Rock  all  along  though  I  never  said  nothin'. 
But  I  allays  did  say  that  young  Gregory  was  a  comin' 


Purple  dusk  settled  closely  about  Legonia  at  the 
close  of  the  most  memorable  day  in  the  history  of  the 
village.  For  a  time  the  streets  were  deserted  as  the 
fishermen  sought  their  homes  at  supper-time  to  retail 
the  latest  bits  of  gossip  which  were  current  in  the 
saloons. 

Kenneth  Gregory's  name  was  upon  every  lip.  No 
story  was  complete  unless  he  figured  in  it.  The 
Golden  Rule  Cannery  had  been  closed  until  further 
notice.  Gregory  had  bought  all  the  fish  brought  in  by 
the  alien  fleet.  His  wharves  were  piled  high  with 
fish-boxes.  His  vats  were  full  of  albacore.  He  was 
going  to  give  everybody  a  chance  if  they  "shot  square" 
and  became  American  citizens.  Rock  and  Blanko- 
vitch  had  been  taken  with  the  men  from  Diablo 
Island  to  the  jail  at  the  county-seat.  The  body  of 
Mascola  was  still  in  the  custody  of  the  local  undertaker 
and  Bandrist  had  been  removed  to  a  hospital.  But  of 
the  men  themselves  little  was  said.  An  era  of  univer 
sal  friendliness  prevailed  throughout  the  village. 

At  the  Lang  cottage  Aunt  Mary  was  striving 
vainly  to  assemble  her  guests  about  the  table  for  the 
evening  meal. 


360  EL  DIABLO 

"The  biscuits  will  be  ruined,"  she  pleaded.  "Leave 
the  talk  go.  You've  all  talked  yourselves  half-sick 
now/' 

Jack  McCoy  protested  as  Miss  Lang  led  him  to  the 
table. 

"Remember,  I  wasn't  there,"  he  said.  "And  I've 
got  a  lot  to  find  out  before  I  get  caught  up." 

Hawkins  slid  into  a  chair  by  McCoy. 

"Well  that's  about  all  there  is  to  it,  Mac,"  he  said. 
"Except  that  the  Gray  Ghost  made  a  clean  getaway  in 
the  fog.  You  see  the  Custom  House  has  been  wise 
to  her  for  a  long  time  but  they  never  could  catch  her 
with  the  goods.  For  some  time  there  has  been  a  lot  of 
dope  floating  around  in  tuna  cans  so  they  kind  of  laid 
it  to  some  fish  cannery.  In  talking  it  over  with  Cap. 
I  began  to  look  this  fellow,  Rock,  up.  And  I  found 
among  other  things,  that  he  didn't  have  a  dollar  until 
a  few  years  ago.  He  made  his  money  quick,  and  as 
far  as  we  knew,  right  here  in  town.  Then,  this 
Diablo  stuff  gave  me  a  hunch." 

Gregory  looked  up  quickly  at  the  mention  of  the 
island. 

"Easy  on  the  Diablo  stuff,  Bill,"  he  cautioned. 
"Aunt  Mary  doesn't  know  much  about  that." 

When  supper  was  over,  Jack  McCoy  rose  hastily. 

"I  must  be  getting  back,"  he  said.  "We  have  a 
big  night-shift  and  fish  to  burn.  And  they  will  burn 
unless  I'm  on  the  job." 

Gregory  followed  him  to  the  door. 


In  the  semi-darkness  of  the  little  pantry-closet 


FOR  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  KNOW   361 

"I'll  be  down  pretty  quick,  Jack,"  he  said.  "I 
want  to  see  Miss  Lang  a  minute  before  I  go." 

A  crooked  little  smile  twisted  the  corners  of 
McCoy's  mouth  and  for  a  moment  he  looked  deep  into 
Gregory's  eyes. 

"I  suppose  congratulations  are  in  order,"  he  began 
somewhat  uncertainly,  and  seeing  that  Gregory  made 
no  denial,  he  put  out  his  hand.  "I  hope  you'll  both  be 
happy,"  he  said  slowly. 

Then  he  turned  quickly  and  hurried  out  the  door. 
Hawkins  hurried  after  him. 

"I  guess  I'll  go  down  with  McCoy,"  he  explained. 
"I  want  to  keep  near  a  phone."  Then  he  turned  to 
Aunt  Mary.  "In  to-morrow's  Times  you'll  get  the 
latest  details  of  the  secret  of  El  Diablo,"  he  said  as  he 
bade  her  good  night. 

When  Hawkins  had  gone  out  and  Aunt  Mary  had 
retired  to  the  kitchen,  Gregory  exclaimed  to  Dickie 
Lang  in  a  low  voice :  • 

"There's  one  secret  she  won't  get  in  The  Times, 
She  won't  have  to  wait  that  long.  For  I'm  going  to 
tell  her  now." 

"You'd  better  not,"  answered  the  girl.  "You 
would  have  to  shout.  She's  unusually  deaf  to-night. 
All  the  neighbors  would  hear." 

"That's  what  I  want,"  Gregory  cried  as  he  walked 
to  the  kitchen  with  Dickie  following  close  behind. 

In  the  semi-darkness  of  the  little  pantry-closet  he 
took  the  girl  in  his  arms. 


362  EL  DIABLO 

"It's  the  only  secret  I'd  never  be  able  to  keep,"  he 
confessed.  "And  I  want  the  whole  world  to  hear  it." 

Pushing  aside  the  swinging-door,  he  went  into  the 
kitchen  to  tell  Aunt  Mary. 

THE  END 


OVERDUE. 


s  1933 


LD  21-100m-7,'33 


YB  33548 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


